Coming Home
by GuiltyRed
Summary: Cave canem beware the dog. The men of Schwarz have just bitten the hand that fed them, and must now flee into exile. Wounded in mind and body, with the full fury of Esset at their heels, the four begin their torturous journey to their ultimate fate. BxS
1. 1

**1 **

_When the music stops, the rest is silence._

Vertigo...free-fall..._cold_...

_Mother...!_

Confusion gave way to comprehension with the maddening slowness of heavy traffic. I gagged on a mixture of saltwater and air: not the breathless trauma of birth, but a rebirth from the womb of the sea. Retching sounds resolved slowly to be from my own tortured lungs. My head hurt; each spasm brought a fresh wave of agony, turning my vision to white.

White. Weiß. _Jesus..._

A warm, strong hand gripped my shoulder, tried to lift me from the clinging sand. It was not a familiar touch, but then again, no touch was. Nothing was familiar at the moment but breathing, and that only slightly.

"Schuldig, you have to get up."

The voice, I knew that voice. It was softer than usual, rough around the edges and carrying so much emotion in those few words I felt my shields slam into place against the onslaught. My head felt like it was going to explode.

I pushed my hands down, my back arched up, and my face came away from the imprint it had left in the sand. The gentle and strong touch remained on my shoulder, growing more insistent.

"Come on, get up. We have to get out of here."

The moments between the sand and standing did not exist. The world flashed into color and back into black and white. Black...black hair, tangled, wet and coated with sand. White...white shirt, ruined suit, clinging to a body that was starting to tremble with shock. Still his hand remained firm upon my shoulder, not allowing me to fall.

I looked into his eyes. His glasses were gone, washed away to the eternity of the ocean. Washed away with all our fears, perhaps? All our sins? Our dreams?

I allowed Crawford to steer me toward a tiny beach house. We went unseen, but it was only a matter of time before rescue workers and the curious descended upon us like locusts. Something wasn't right.

"Nagi!" The name clawed its way from my throat, and I struggled weakly against Crawford's insistent grasp.

"We'll go back and find him, Schuldig. But first we need a place to regroup." He looked worried, a rare thing for him.

I watched as he drew the shutters and made his way through the two-room cabin. Cabin? Hell, it was a fisherman's shanty and stank of fish. Just the place for human flotsam judged too small and thrown back by the sea. That absurdity brought wild laughter up and out of me like vomit. Each manic bray jolted my head, and light flashed behind my eyes. The floor floated up beneath me.

"Schuldig!" Crawford saw me keel over and cried my name, hurrying to my side.

My hands could not inflict enough pressure on my head to stop the pain inside, but the damn thing wouldn't just get it over with and pop. I tasted wet salt on my lips, and realized I was crying.

Crawford knelt in front of me and gazed into my face as though trying to divine a way out of our situation by the pattern of my tears. Strong hands cupped my face, brushing the tears away with astounding gentleness. I looked into his eyes and for the first time saw a man there, a real human man with regrets and fear in his deep, dark soul.

"We'll find them, Schuldig. Trust me to know when to look."

He did not say whether we would find them alive.

We probably stayed there only a few minutes, long enough for my breathing to even out and my headache to recede a few millimeters, before he announced it was time to go back to the shoreline. Amazingly enough no one had yet come to investigate the tower's collapse. Evidently the power that was Esset had ensured that we would not be immediately disturbed, even under circumstances such as these.

Crawford turned left, I turned right. The wet sand sucked at my bare feet as though tasting me and debating whether to swallow. For a moment I wondered why my shoes were gone, while Crawford's were not. Apparently loafers are less seaworthy than oxfords. I reached up to push dank strands from my face and noticed that my hand was bloody. That's right, I remembered: I had been fighting...

I heard a weak and windy cough. Dropping my reverie, I hurried to find its source.

The smallest Weiß lay face down in the sand, moving with the slowness of a sleeper trying to wake from a nightmare. He struggled to pull himself through the sand by his forearms, his legs dragging limply behind him.

I paused only a moment; he was not my enemy, never truly had been, but until my own team was safe I could not afford the distraction. He was alive; that was enough. I moved on.

Not far from the kitten, two other figures lay unmoving. A chill coiled itself at the base of my spine: Kudou's long coat encased his slender form like a waterlogged coffin, and loops of razor wire decorated his neck in an obscene mockery of jewelry. I couldn't force myself away; I had to know.

Kudou looked like he was sleeping, his face turned up to the sky and his eyes closed in a care-free mask. As I approached, I feared the worst. But no, he was breathing. Thank God. Beads of fresh blood seeped from his throat where the wire had cut its master. I knelt and reached out my hand, likewise cut and stained by that cruel weapon, and loosened the wire a little more. I let my fingertips linger on his throat a moment as I contemplated what might have been. I stopped short of kissing his parted lips and forced myself to my feet.

The other man, Fujimiya, lay sprawled on his belly, katana just beyond his fingertips as though he had finally let go in exhaustion. He must have cut the wire; by the look of things, he had dragged his teammate to shore and then collapsed. It was a miracle neither man had drowned. His back moved with his breathing, so I did not linger. They were not what I was searching for, though I would never deny my relief at seeing at least one of them alive.

::Schuldig, take cover, now.:: Crawford's mental voice held no clue, only command. I dived beneath a piece of wreckage.

A low-flying helicopter cruised by. I didn't dare look. The moment its tone shifted, signaling distance, I got up and ran. Weiß was waking; I did not want them to know I had survived. I don't know why, but it seemed important that they not know. Not until we had Nagi, anyway.

I didn't hold any hope for finding Farfarello alive. I had felt him die.

Tears threatened, but I fought them down. My head still hurt worse than any practice session at Rosenkreuz, and crying would only make it unbearable.

Another shape in the sand, too big to be Nagi. If it were Farf, at least I'd know...

A powerfully built old man lay in the sand, blood washed from his breast, mouth slack in death. Disgust rolled through me. Without really thinking about it, I reached down and grabbed him by the feet and dragged him back to the water, pushing him into the current. I watched him go out and sink. I couldn't resist the urge, so I spat after him, then scrubbed my hands with water and fresh sand. I had touched the corpse of an Elder of Esset. Gross.

Time was running out. I worked past the pain and sent my thoughts out searching. And they found something.

I followed them as fast as I could.

I almost missed him. The tiny figure lay curled, half-buried in the sand. Strands of seaweed clung to his hair and face as though the sea had been reluctant to let him go. My heart skipped painfully in my chest as I skidded to a halt and knelt at his side.

He wasn't breathing.

"Oh, no you don't, kiddo," I muttered as my hands flipped him onto his belly in the sand and pushed water from his lungs with unpracticed vigor. I didn't care if I broke a rib, so long as he started breathing again. "Don't you dare fucking die on me!"

Water poured from his mouth. I pushed a couple more times, then flipped him over again. My left hand flew to his nose, the right pried his lips apart then rested sensitive fingertips against his throat. I lowered my mouth to his and breathed for him, counting the moments.

::Schuldig, come back. I found Farfarello.::

::I FOUND NAGI!:: I screamed back at him, my thoughts too loud even for me. Panic wavered near the edge of my sight, or perhaps it was just lightheadedness from breathing all my air into another human being. Maybe it was just pain.

A tiny sound, something between a gag and a whimper, then the frantic rhythm of a near-dead heartbeat fluttered against my fingertips.

I sat back and breathed for myself again. He looked smaller than he was, lying there like that, all wet and tempest tossed. He reminded me of some kind of changeling, born of no mortal woman. This tiny boy had defeated the Elder, and very likely saved our lives. Careful as though he were made of spun glass, I picked Nagi up and carried him back to the cabin.

Crawford met me at the door. He looked exhausted and hurt. He must have dragged Farfarello back all by himself.

Reaching out to take the boy from me, he said, "Footprints, Schuldig."

Shit.

I eased Nagi into Crawford's arms and sprinted out, looking for something to drag across the sand. I found a branch that wasn't too bulky and set out, following Crawford's too-clear trail leftward, then returning to my own tracks in the opposite direction.

On my way back toward the shack, I saw that the smallest Weiß had dragged himself closer to the water's edge, where he cradled the unmoving form of the clawed assassin. As though he felt my gaze, the boy looked right at me. His eyes were too dark, pupils dilated with shock, most likely. The angle of his legs didn't look right. Still, he had managed to cross the distance from where he had washed up to the side of his stricken teammate.

I don't know why, but I reached out my mind to the agent who had fought Farfarello. The young man with the claws was not dead, though he was terribly injured. There was nothing I could do; I couldn't even help my own team. But my ears tuned in to the approaching roar of vehicles, presumably called by the red-haired vixen.

The kitten stared at me, all hate and anger washed away by sorrow and pain. I spoke into his mind, not caring that it hurt me to do so. ::He's alive. So are the others. They're about twenty meters further down, well above the tide line.::

He blinked, then nodded and mouthed the word _arigato_.

I returned to the shack without a backward glance. I knew he would keep my trust, though why I could not say.

A/N: If you are interested in my author's notes, soundtrack and such for this story, please visit (complete web information under my author profile) You will find my story there (under GuiltyRed) along with my other fictions and the fictions of many other great authors. Also, I tend to post there first before I post anything here, just in case you are interested.


	2. 2

**2**

"We can stay here a few more days," Crawford stated with unconvincing calm.

"Why couldn't we just go with Weiß? They have doctors!" I snarled, fear getting the better of me. I had watched from the window as the retrieval vans had arrived and swept the Kritiker team away to medical care and hot food. I had watched the youngest kitten look back toward my window and say nothing. I had watched their rescue even as I listened to the faint breath of Nagi and the harsh rasp of Farfarello struggling not to die just yet.

Crawford sighed, pain clouding his features. He wrapped his left arm around himself a little more tightly. Something had broken inside and movement hurt him. Still, he was our leader, and as such, he would lead until stopped by Death herself. "Schuldig, we can't do that. Not now. Don't ask me why. We'll get through this without their doctors."

There was no need to mention that we would do without Esset doctors as well, for our ties with Esset had been not only severed but cauterized. After this, we would either be hailed as liberators, or reviled as traitors. I had a bad feeling about it. But my head hurt too much to dwell on such things, so I complained about the obvious.

"What about Farf?" How the Irishman had survived was beyond me: two of those claws had gone right up into his brain, with a third claw giving him a new scar up the right side of his face. He was alive, but had had two seizures since we brought him to the cabin and still had not regained consciousness. "You've Seen Nagi waking up, but what about Farf?"

I frowned at myself; even I had heard the panic tinging my voice, and I knew it had not been lost upon Crawford. That man missed nothing. He remained silent. I looked over at our stoic leader.

Silver tears spoke for him. His shoulders shook slightly as he fought to contain this uncharacteristic outburst, and failed. One trembling hand rose to cover his face. "Schuldig, you don't understand. None of us should be here." His eyes peered over his fingers at me. "We should have died in that tower."

A chill ran through me at his unexpected statement. "Brad --" I felt justified in using the familiarity of his first name under the circumstances -- "what are you saying?"

He looked up at me from where he sat, leaning painfully against the wall, his eyes bright with knowing. "The only freedom I saw for us would be bought in blood. Our blood. I never saw an 'after' for that battle. We should be dead."

Something compelled me to his side. I sank to the floor, took hold of his arm and lay my head against his shoulder. This time, he did not push me away. All those years I had ached to be this close to him, and now... He wept, and I wrapped myself in the silence of him.

The moment ended too soon. "Schuldig, there's something we need to do, and I can't be the one to do it. Our apartment. There are things we'll need..." His voice trailed off, stolen by pain.

"I'm on it. How much time do you think I'll have?"

Crawford frowned, calculating the risk. "Take as little time as possible. In any case, be back before sunrise."

He didn't need to say any more. I knew that if I did not return in time, they would not be waiting for me. How he would move our two unconscious teammates didn't matter; he would find a way.

I promised him I'd be back in time.

I couldn't take a car. That would be too obvious, and in any case I was not in any condition to drive. I figured I'd dry off better if I took a bike anyway, at least as far as the train station. Thank the gods that this wretched museum had been on the same island as our apartment, or this would be much more difficult to do.

As soon as I spotted a likely mark, I was off the bike and helping myself to the fellow's cash and his ATM card, with the number easily plucked out of his unsuspecting head. He smiled and nodded, and would remember only a gaijin asking politely for directions; he would presume his wallet had been left at home. When it turned up later in a public trash bin, he might wonder, but would never connect it with me.

I hopped on a bus, invisible as a ghost. Damn, but it was easy clouding the minds of normals. Good thing, too; my head hurt like a bitch. I didn't know how long I could keep this up, and time was of the essence.

Bus to train to apartment, with a brief detour to cash in the stolen ATM card and lose the wallet. It felt like midnight was fast approaching. This was taking too long.

I let myself into our apartment and checked the clock. 10:48. Not midnight yet, then. Good. I tried to figure what time it would be in 20 minutes; I had to count on my fingers, my head hurt so bad. Okay, then. I would be out of here by 11:08.

First stop, hallway closet. Two large gym bags, already stuffed with minimal gear: casual clothes, two spare guns, ammunition, small towels. Still room for more important things. I dropped them in the hall and moved on.

Bathroom. With shaking hands I opened the bottle of migraine pills and dry-swallowed two. Then every bottle of pain medicine went into Crawford's neat little shaving kit, along with needle and suture thread, rubbing alcohol, first aid kit, and general hygeine supplies. On impulse I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and tossed it with the over-full shaving bag into the hallway.

Farf's room. Not the cell, there wouldn't be anything in there. This was his room for his lucid times. Rather, this _was_ his room. I grabbed two good knives, a few random books, a whetstone and oil, some more street clothes, and a straitjacket.

I looked at the growing pile in the hallway. How the hell was I going to carry all this shit?

No time. I hurried to Nagi's room. There, I made a small pile of clothes – he didn't have many. Then I rifled through his desk until I found the small screwdriver he used for his computer casing. I pried open the hard drive and pulled out the motherboard and memory chips. These went into the pile of clothes. I would cripple every computer in our possession: we didn't dare keep them, but damned if I was leaving anything behind.

From there, I hurried to my own room. I grabbed another satchel and stuffed clothes and cigarettes in it. Almost as an afterthought, I grabbed my disc player, headphones, and some random music.

Brad's room – easy. Just clothes and spare eyeglasses. He didn't keep much of interest there. I did grab the small pistol from his nightstand, though, just in case.

Then, the office. It was already eleven; I had to hurry. First, the wall safe. Crawford kept a stash of money in several currencies there; we'd need every last bit of it. I grabbed a large envelope and filled it. Under the cash lay a key; it went into the envelope too.

I gutted the computer and the laptop, keeping the chips in my pocket for the moment. I'd dispose of them thoroughly later.

I knew he never kept anything important written down, so I didn't bother with the filing cabinet. I jimmied the desk and took the half dozen syringes of powerful sedative he reserved for Farfarello's most dangerous outbursts. I found yet another gun and more bullets, and our ATM card. I looked around to see if I'd forgotten anything.

On the desk sat Crawford's candy jar, its contents a bright mix of inviting colors. American chocolate, candy coated to keep it neat, the orange and green ones carefully removed to keep a certain unstable Irishman from going ballistic. I found a manilla envelope, dumped out the papers, and poured the candy in. I folded it over carefully and headed back to the hall.

I managed to cram most of my collected items into the gym bags and satchel. I had to jettison one outfit each for myself and Crawford; I had forgotten the kitchen, and needed a little more room.

Cans are too heavy, bottles out of the question. I grabbed some soup packets and two plastic mugs, trying to plan what we could feed Nagi and Farf when they woke up. I refused to think anything else about the matter. The things we had in the kitchen were too bulky; I decided to get food later.

Blankets, dammit! What was I thinking? The fishing cabin had only one tiny cot and a smelly wool blanket, and we had two wounded people to care for. Three, actually; I'd need to find something to wrap Brad's chest with, too. And I was still sopping wet, and my self-imposed deadline was nearly up.

I hurried to my room and stripped, then dried off with a sheet. Sudden inspiration moved me, and I grinned at my cleverness. An outfit I had passed by became my first layer: skin-tight leather pants and a silk shirt. Over this I added another silk shirt. I grabbed two thin but warm blankets and a set of sheets and sprinted, tossing the bed linens into the hall and hurrying back into Brad's room.

There I found a pair of jeans that just fit over my leathers, and a linen shirt that wasn't too overly warm. Two pairs of lightweight socks and a pair of old, sprung tennis shoes finished the gear. The layers of clothing made me look far different from the slender German they would be expecting, should the hunt begin so soon.

The bags were crammed to capacity. I took one last look around the apartment.

11:10. Time to go.

I hurried away from the apartment, then deliberately slowed down. I would play the part of a misplaced gaijin student, looking for a friend's house that was just down the street for certain. Lost would suit me well. Besides, the bags were damn heavy.

Another train, another lifted wallet, another bank card. I collected a fair amount of cash in a short time, always sure to pass the card to a handy assistant and guide them through the transaction like a good puppet, to ensure that my face did not appear on the bank cameras.

My head was killing me. I wondered what had happened, in the tower, that had left me in such condition. I had been in contact with the rest of my team when the tower fell. I had felt Farf die, though it seems the crazy Irishman had survived his own death yet again. Could the link have damaged something for good?

It didn't matter, so long as my telepathy lasted long enough to get me back to the fish hut where my team lay wounded and cold.

The rest of the night became one painful blur. I debated taking more medicine, but no, I would save that for Nagi. If my power was causing me pain, and all I had done was keep up our link, what had happened to the chibi, who had collapsed saving us from the sea?

I stopped at a convenience store and bought some food, mostly hiker's snacks and power drinks and the like. On impulse I added a double handful of caffeine pills and vitamins to the pile. The clerk smiled blandly and would not remember my face. Hopefully he would not think about why he had turned the security cameras off for those few minutes.

I checked the clock on the register. 3:14 a.m.

Less than an hour later, I stumbled down to the shack by the sea. My muscles were screaming, my head was beyond pain, and my eyesight was beginning to go dim, but I made it back in time.

Crawford met me a few steps past the door, taking the two gym bags from me with a grateful smile.

"Wait," I told him, setting down the groceries and my satchel. "I have to do something first." I took the computer parts out of my pocket, snapped them into shards, and flung them into the sea. "Okay, now I'm done."


	3. 3

**3 **

"You did good, Schu." Crawford finished going through the bags while I stripped off the layered clothing and dried off the sweat.

"I hope I didn't forget anything. I got your guns, Farf's medicine, I killed the computers, I even got money and food. Oh, I didn't know where or if I should use this, but I grabbed it too." I handed him his ATM card.

He smiled slightly. "I'll find a way to get what we need from this. Oh, and thanks for the M&Ms."

"Any change?" I asked, tugging on a pair of jeans.

"Not yet. Help me get them cleaned up and into some dry clothes."

We agreed without saying it that Farf should be in his straitjacket until the seizures stopped. Nagi we dressed in his school uniform and wrapped with a blanket. The boy was dead weight in my arms. It reminded me of the first time I'd met him, when I had to help him bathe and the little waif had passed out from exhaustion on my lap afterward, his damp hair cool against my chest. Tears welled up and I hauled them back, unwilling to feel those feelings just yet.

The sea-ruined clothing went into a pile in the back of the cabin. The fancy white suits wouldn't be leaving with us. Some articles had been used as bandages for Farfarello's wounds, and the only items still wearable were our underclothes and three pairs of trousers anyway. We'd keep those just in case, but when we left we'd be wearing the clothes I'd brought from the apartment. This would lighten the bags somewhat, for which I was thankful. I had the feeling I'd be carrying them for a while.

Crawford and I tore into the rations, only then realizing how long it had been since our last meal. Outside, the newly-risen sun struggled against rain clouds. After our desperate breakfast, Crawford took a bottle of sports drink and poured a few drops against Farf's lips. Farf gave a slow, reflexive lick at the moisture. Crawford gave him some more, not wanting to choke him but knowing he'd need the liquid.

Nagi was more difficult. He was in a damn coma, our payback for the Fujimiya girl, no doubt. He didn't respond to the cool drops on his mouth; between Brad and myself, we managed to force him to swallow a little liquid. I could only hope that he wouldn't die of exposure before waking up from his damage-induced sleep. Being this close to him, it wasn't hard for me to figure out that my guess had been right, and his battle with the sea had broken something inside his head. But Crawford had Seen him waking up, so I held onto that hope with all my failing strength.

Crawford opened a bottle and shook out a handful of pain pills. He offered me half. His eyes were too bright; pain gnawed at him from at least a few broken ribs, if not worse. At least he didn't have a fever.

I washed the bitter pills down with a swig of too-sweet sports drink and sank to the floor beside him. I pulled one of the gym bags over and hauled out a sheet. It was one of my favorites, Egyptian cotton linen and expensive as hell. I took one of Farf's knives and sliced into the sheet, then tore off a wide strip. Crawford watched, seemingly dazed from his injuries and not really aware of what I had in mind.

"Lean forward," I told him, "and lift your arms." I'm not the team medic, that would be Nagi's job, but I do know how to wrap broken ribs. I wound the linen about Brad's torso, trying not to think about the intimacy of the situation; this was hardly the time or place for that. He winced a little, but I knew the bandage would help. I tied the end inelegantly, and shrugged. "Sorry, forgot the safety pins."

"How about you? Where were you injured, Schuldig?"

I lifted my right hand, now scabbed over with angry red lines. "And I think I hit my head. I don't remember some of it."

Crawford eased my head down and examined the back of it with gentle fingers. "There's dried blood here, Schu. Hand me the alcohol."

I flinched at the thought, but did as he told me. He tore off another bit of sheet and used it with the alcohol to clean my wounds. My scalp wasn't so bad, but my hand felt like it was on fire.

After we were done doctoring each other, I turned to sit next to him, not wanting to lie down to sleep. Brad was in too much discomfort to move, anyway. It would be warmer like this. Crawford tugged the second blanket up and hooked a corner of it behind my shoulder. "Get some sleep, Schuldig."

I couldn't argue with that. My body and mind were beyond exhausted.

I don't know how long we sat there, propped against each other while Nagi and Farf lay in the next room, locked in dreamless slumber. I must have slept; the cabin was dark now save for the moonlight struggling through the cracks in the shutters.

"Get some more sleep," Crawford whispered. "We'll have to leave soon, couple of days at best."

"I can't sleep anymore." My voice sounded hollow. The dark hours of the night had always inspired men to morbid thoughts, and I was already in the throes of them. "What if Nagi doesn't wake up by then? What do we do?" I couldn't bear to ask the real question.

Brad answered it anyway. "Nagi will wake up, Schuldig. If it's not before we leave, you carry him. There is no choice, we'll have to go or we'll be found. We had five days on the outside, and I want to be well away by then." He turned his head to look at me. "I'm sorry."

"For what? For not dying?" Hysteria loomed; I refused to give in to it. "Brad..."

"My name," he stated, sounding almost like himself for a moment, "is Crawford, Schuldig. I am still your leader and you would do well to remember that."

But his thoughts and emotions were not so confident, and I called him on it. "Brad," I said with emphasis, "you did not fail the team. We won, thanks to you." I felt his arm tense as his mind recognized my scrutiny and tried to shield against it. My head still hurt, though not so brutally as before, but I would not back down. He had to know, I had to make him know or we would never leave this room. ::Brad. You didn't fail us.::

His eyes misted over and for one second Brad Crawford looked utterly vulnerable. My hand lifted from his arm to caress his face, and before I knew my own intentions I had leaned in and pressed my lips to his. Bliss exploded in my mind, tearing through the shreds of pain and fatigue and sanity like the sword of an archangel. I had craved this touch for far too long, and under the circumstances, I was wholly beyond myself. We had nearly died, we could be found any moment, Brad's gift could fail and we could be found and Nagi might die and --

::Schuldig?? What are --??:: His thoughts flared in confusion, then abruptly veered into decision.

His arms enfolded me, pulling me closer, and I shifted so that I was kneeling beside him, facing him, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him from the coldness of the wall. His mouth opened to mine, his mind opened, and I fell into both, ravenous kisses echoed in the whisper of my thoughts. Fear and despair gave way to the calm that was Brad Crawford. My mind began to let go of its panicky babbling and form coherent, if humbling, thoughts. Thoughts I had fought so long to keep to myself and were now professed to him like a deathbed prayer. ::God, Brad, please, I'm yours, I always have been, claim me, take me, make me whole...::

He broke the kiss only long enough to whisper, "Shhh. I know, Schuldig. I know."

All pretense shredded away, there in that cabin, with the sounds of our stricken teammates' breaths mingling with the murmur of the sea like a chorus of drowned sailors bound for Hell. Without words, I knew. He loved me. Madness hovered just beyond my knowing, and I didn't care. He loved me. The horrors of the Elders flapped like black birds in my memory, shattered into ashes before the power of Brad's love for me, for all of us. He became my refuge, my keep, the fortress of my mind, sharing his strength not out of duty or honor but out of love. Love for me.

I felt faint.

Desperation and madness merged into need. His hands slid up under my shirt; I shivered at his touch. My own hands shook as I unfastened his pants. I trembled as he pushed my pants down and caressed my too-cold skin. I clutched at his shoulders for balance and straddled him, knowing he was still too hurt to do anything more athletic than this. Brad tangled one hand in my hair, pulled my mouth to his, kissed me with powerful determination. He moaned against my mouth as my fingers coaxed him, urged him, guided him. Our mingled spit would suffice for this; I stroked him with a wet hand and pushed back onto him.

My mind shattered.

Brad's eyes flew wide open as the sensations flooded his body and his mind, unexpected and thrilling. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise. I claimed his mouth again, silencing myself with his tongue even as my shields flared into nothingness and I felt myself pouring into him. He whimpered and thrust up into me, pulling me down onto him, trembling with the force of our mingled passion.

Fear, lust, need, desire, a wisp of soul, a spark, a tiny shred of humanity not yet withered... Random glimpses of thought spun wildly in my head, whether mine or his, or someone else's, I could not begin to guess, nor could I care. When gods fuck, the earth must surely tremble... If this were madness, I would gladly stay here.

Beneath me, Brad groaned, not fighting as I took his mind as forcefully as he took me, thrusting, filling, overpowering.

I tasted salt, and copper. Brad wrapped his arms around me and I felt him come, his cock spasming inside me, his mind shuddering, hot liquid filling me, flowing from him, blood flowing from his nose, tears coursing down his face.

My body jerked, all muscles locking up as I came, spilling out upon his belly, spilling into his already wounded mind. He whimpered against my lips.

Oh God.

"Brad?" I forced myself to look at his face. Moonlight showed a fresh wet stain above his lip, dark without color, but his eyes were bright and lucid. "Oh, God, I hurt you."

He smiled, a serene and beautiful smile. "It's not that bad, Schu." He caressed my face.

"Don't ever leave me, Brad," I whispered, searching his eyes for confirmation that he wasn't lying, that I hadn't injured him beyond repair.

"I won't," he promised, searching my eyes for...what?

Suddenly I understood, and I would not accept it. "And promise you will never send me away from you!"

"Schuldig, you know I can't promise that. There'll come a time when –"

"Lie to me!" I whispered with all the urgency of my soul.

He blinked, then nodded. "All right, Schu: I promise."

"And never go where I can't follow," I begged, voice cracking. I had only just found something worth living for, I was not about to lose it. This could not be allowed to fade back into a masquerade.

"I won't."

"I hurt you," I repeated, tears washing down my face.

"Shhh." He eased me up off him and cuddled me against his chest. "Sleep, now. We'll talk more later."

"I love you," I whispered as fatigue rolled over me.

"I know."

How am I doing?? Please review!


	4. 4

**4 **

_From Hell's heart, I stab at thee..._

The cabin had become a prison. Aside from one other midnight foray to a convenience store, I had not set foot outside. This was day five after the tower, and Nagi was still unconscious. We had managed to get him to swallow the sports drink, though it took both of us to do so and it was damned difficult to pour just enough into his mouth so he wouldn't choke or drool it back out. His body temperature felt too cold, had felt too cold ever since the damn beach.

Farf had begun to come around, enough to be aware of his seizures, and the restraints. No coherent thoughts yet, only anger, a pulsing, crimson rage, flowing through his veins, pouring from his mind, his fury washed over me, burned me, violated me, left nothing behind but --

"Schu. Snap out of it." Crawford's voice cut through the fog.

I looked up. Crawford was dressed in faded denim and a dark green linen shirt. Once again he wore his familiar no-nonsense expression, and it made me feel strangely safe to see it.

"We're leaving tonight. Just after sunset. Get yourself ready."

I sighed, rubbing at my temples. Keeping Farf out of my head was becoming a real challenge. "How, Brad? Are we stealing a car, or what? I don't know how far I could carry the kid without attracting attention."

"Let me worry about that. You need to eat something, and keep your strength up. How's your head?"

I knew he wasn't referring to my lacerated scalp. "It's okay. Been better. My shields are shit. If you're more than about ten feet away, radio Farf starts coming in loud and clear. Well, as clear as he can, anyway."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Then I'll try to stay at nine."

"Why, Brad! You made a funny!"

He glowered at me over his eyeglasses. "Schuldig, don't call me Brad."

"Whyever not? It's not like anyone's awake to hear it."

Crawford sighed. "It's useless to try with you, isn't it. You are stubborn and pig-headed as always, Schuldig. Now more than ever we need to keep some discipline in the team, and I need your help to do that. What do you suppose Farf and Nagi will think when they do wake up and see us acting too casual?"

"Um, I don't know, what are you getting at, Brad -- sorry, Mr. Crawford?" I replied, irritated no small amount. We had finally consummated a long-standing desire, on my side of it anyway, and he was being impossible again. It was as if that desperate moment had never happened.

Crawford squatted down in front of me and stared into my eyes. "They will have no idea how much danger we are all in, Schu. If we act casual, they will have no idea, and right now, we are in more danger than we have ever faced before as a team."

My blood chilled. "What do you mean? What's going on? I mean, I know it's bad, they won't let us go for this. We made Esset look stupid, not to mention killing off the Elders. But, Brad, what exactly is happening?"

"They will want one of two things, Schuldig. One is to kill us as traitors. The other is to take us back by force. Which do you suppose would be worse, especially for Nagi? They always knew the child was powerful, but could never map the extent of it. What do you think they would do to him at Rosenkreuz?"

I shuddered. "Death would be better."

"Keep that in mind when you address me, then. It's for the team, Schu. It's not about you or me."

"Brad," I whispered, raising my hand to his face, "do we have to act like nothing happened between us? Because, you know, I can't do that, I can't just pretend there's nothing there!"

He clasped my hand in his and twined our fingers together. "No, we won't pretend. I don't play games like that. But try to keep it a little professional for their benefit, all right?"

Before I could answer he leaned in and kissed me softly on the mouth. "All right?" he repeated.

I nodded.

"Now, eat something and get in a travel mindset. This is going to be intense for a while."

The day dragged on, a sunny disaster with curious people wandering along the beach, gaping at the spot where the tower had stood. I paced the confines of the cabin, careful not to get too close to Farf or too far away from Crawford. I wanted a cigarette, I desperately wanted a cigarette, but until Nagi woke I didn't want to subject him to it. Once awake, he could bitch or move away from the smoke or something. So I paced.

It was nearly sundown when Crawford began unfastening Farf's straitjacket. I moved to help him. It wouldn't do to be hauling a man around trussed up like something from a Marquis deSade fashion show, so we got him into jeans and a t-shirt. Crawford spoke to him in low, even tones to try to wake him up.

One baleful yellow eye opened and fixed on Crawford. Behind Brad, I held a pistol ready. I was prepared to kill the Irish madman to save Crawford's life; I hoped I wouldn't have to.

"Where am I?" Farf asked, voice low and raspy.

"We survived the fight, Farfarello," Crawford told him, voice calm. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty."

"Give me the gun, Schuldig, and get him something to drink." I handed the pistol to Crawford, who trained it on Farf with a steady hand. "I regret that all this is necessary, but you have been injured, and that injury has made you a little less predictable than usual."

"Can I have my drink first?" Farf asked, the old wicked humor back in his voice.

"Certainly. It is my intention that you accompany us on a journey, Farfarello. Do you feel up to it?"

"You're not going to shoot me?"

"Only if I have to."

I handed Farf a bottle of sports drink, neither orange nor green but a sort of electric yellow color. He pulled the cap off and drank greedily. When done, he sighed and set the mostly empty bottle on the floor. He gingerly touched the back of his hand to the underside of his jaw. The hand came back damp with bloody seepage. "I'm leaking. What happened to me?"

"We were fighting Weiß," Crawford told him. "Do you remember that?"

"I remember...an old man, afraid of death. And black birds."

"You were stabbed up under the chin."

Farf touched his fingers to his right cheek, traced the newest scar. "I do remember. I broke his head, and carried him to Hell."

Oh, this wasn't good. I glanced at Crawford. The gun never wavered.

"Did I die?"

"No, you did not." Crawford kept his voice calm, though concern had begun rising within his thoughts.

"Should I have?" Farfarello kept on, persistent as only he could be.

"I doubt it," Crawford told him, "as, obviously, you have not. Can you stand?" So as not to be sitting at a disadvantage, he stood before the Irishman and kept the pistol ready.

Slowly, carefully, Farf rose to his feet. He swayed a little. "Dizzy, but it'll do."

"Schuldig?"

"Yes?"

"Finish packing. Farfarello will help carry the bags. You will carry Nagi."

"Nagi?" Farf asked, concern in his voice. "What's wrong with the boy?"

"He knocked himself out saving our lives," I answered, earning myself a brief glare from Crawford.

"I see." Farf took a few unsteady steps, then seemed to regain his balance again and followed Brad to the makeshift luggage.

I finished stuffing the bags again, making sure to distribute the weight a little better this time. Brad pocketed a syringe and his smaller pistol, and indicated that I should take my own handgun and plenty of ammunition.

"So, Brad? Are we just walking out of here?" I asked, trying not to sound as worried as I felt.

"Actually, yes. We are. In about fifteen minutes, you'll understand. I just need you to keep people from seeing us for that amount of time. Don't worry, there won't be many around."

How he managed not to sound smug I'll never know. "We're ready, then." I loaded Farf with the gym bags, Brad took my satchel, and I scooped up Nagi. It felt like he'd already lost some weight. If he didn't wake up soon, he'd die of starvation or dehydration or something. Damn Crawford! We could have gone with Kritiker, given ourselves up or some such, they think they're heroes, they'd have to show us mercy and --

"Schuldig. You're projecting." Crawford fixed me with an icy glare. "Get control of it. I need you. Besides," he added almost gently, "Kritiker has better things to do than get involved with the likes of us. They're not ready for a war yet, and that's what we'd bring to them. They'll help us when they can without endangering their entire organization. Trust me on that."

"Yes, sir."

Crawford led the way from the shack up to the narrow dirt street. We walked for maybe ten minutes or so.

"There. See that blue sedan?" Crawford said, pointing.

I nodded.

"There will be three teenagers in that car, indulging in some chemical recreation. Convince them to go skinny dipping, Schuldig."

I raised an eyebrow. "Skinny dipping?"

"I'll explain more as you need it, now do it! Your window of opportunity is closing."

I lay Nagi down on the grass and sprinted to the car. Sure enough, as I approached I could smell the tell-tale heavy and sweet smoke of hashish. Good stuff, too. It wasn't very hard to muddle their minds and give them the suggestion. They started stripping and stumbling away from the car, aiming for the ocean.

Brad had lifted Nagi and now carried him to the car. The American's face was etched in pain. No matter how slight the boy was, Brad's ribs were in bad shape for that kind of work. I helped him lay Nagi on the back seat; there was plenty of room left for a passenger. Brad got in beside the boy, breathing hard. He wadded up the teens' discarded clothing and used it to pillow Nagi's head.

I popped the trunk and helped Farf stow our gear inside. I didn't stop to think about anything we might need in the car; I just wanted to be done and gone as soon as possible. Then Farf got into the passenger seat, leaving me to drive.

As I backed the car up and headed for the road, Brad tapped me on the shoulder. "One more thing, Schuldig. Stop here."

I did, and he pointed to the frolicking delinquents. "Convince them they drove the car into the sea by accident. They're not sure where, and they're damn happy to be alive."

I didn't ask, simply reached for their addled minds and did the deed. The kids went from festive to panicked in a heartbeat. I couldn't help but laugh as one started scooping handfuls of water in a futile search for what was certainly his parents' car.

In answer to my unasked question, Crawford said, "That should keep this car from being reported stolen, and give us a little more time to get out of Japan."


	5. 5

**5 **

_And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed..._

"Schuldig, you will not throw that tape out the window. Put the window up now and calm down."

"Scheiße, Brad! Gottverdammt japanisch Musik!" I threw the tape onto the floorboards at Farfarello's feet and gripped the wheel tightly. My hands were shaking. "I need something to keep sane, Brad! There's no CD player in here, and my discs are in the trunk anyway. The radio is all crap, and those stupid drunk kids listened to total shit."

Farfarello slowly turned his head and stared at me, not blinking. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that he seemed to be trembling. "Oh, fuck, Crawford, he's seizing!" All my concentration went into driving and keeping Farf out of my head then. There was no good place to pull over, and it was all I could do to keep random motorists from noticing the two gaijin in the front seat of the blue sedan trying desperately to get to the poor side of town.

Crawford reached around the seat and wrapped his arms around the Irishman, pulling him back into the car seat and holding him tightly. In a few moments the drama was over: Farf sagged limply against the seat restraints.

My head throbbed. The combined violence of Farfarello's waking thoughts and his disordered seizures left me shaking. Sweat trickled down my face. Without my bandanna to hold it back, my hair kept plastering itself to my forehead no matter how many times I pushed it back. Sweaty hair was becoming a fact of my life.

Crawford sighed and leaned back in his seat. His ribs still hurt, I could tell. "Schu, we may have to leave him. If this continues, it'll tear through your shields until nothing is left. And I can't care for Nagi alone. You understand this, right?"

"Yes, Brad. I know." Even unconscious, the Irishman had a constant stream of words pouring from his psyche. They came in random sentences like the ministry of a mad evangelist, Biblical prophecy and speculation all rolled into one. "He's fixating again. Revelations, I think. You know, the one about the head wound?"

"I thought as much. He keeps asking me if he should have died from his injury. I figured that was where he was going with it."

"Do you See anything?"

"Other than our current destination? No, nothing I can share at this time."

I tried to will my shoulders to relax a little. At least we had a destination, right? Could be worse, we could be cruising around on the run with life-threatening injuries in a stolen car and no destination.

"Schu, you're projecting again." Brad rested his hand on my shoulder, his touch strong and warm. "Do you need me to drive for a while?"

"No," I answered immediately, "you rest and watch over Nagi. I can do this. It's not too much farther, is it?"

"About an hour."

An hour. Sixty minutes of concentrating on my shields and the minds of nearby motorists. Three hundred and sixty seconds of hell. With no decent music to help me. I reached down to the radio and hit the scan button, over and over, searching for anything.

Wait, was that...a voice singing in English? I went back to the last clear station and turned up the volume. I wasn't much for the band, though I did know the song. It was an annoying pop ditty that should have been a soft drink commercial in my opinion, but at least it was something to focus on.

The station faded out about forty minutes later, but by then I had a firmer grasp on my shields and Farf had lapsed into a silent slumber. Brad started navigating a few minutes later, directing me through streets I knew he had never visited before. The buildings looked old and ill-used, in bad need of paint and repair or just simple demolition; I couldn't decide which would be better.

"Here, Schu. Park in back."

I looked at the three-dimensional urban decay in front of the car. "You're joking, right?" The sign indicated a noodle restaurant; I was willing to bet everything would taste like dogmeat.

But Brad Crawford had Seen this place, and had given the order, so I pulled around to the back and parked, though not yet killing the engine. The alleyway looked like the perfect place to dispose of murder victims. "Brad, are you sure?"

"Go ahead and shut it down, Schu. This is the place." Brad let himself out of the car. "Lock those two in and come with me."

I hated leaving them alone, I hated leaving them together, I hated this place just on principle. "Brad..."

"Trust me."

I turned off the engine and got out, carefully locking the doors and pocketing the keys. Brad stood beside a narrow door next to a delivery bay. Why they had one of those back here was beyond me, as the idea of jockeying a truck around in the alley seemed a feat worthy of a Las Vegas magic show.

Brad knocked at the door.

A gaunt Japanese man of about thirty opened the door and looked at us with some suspicion but no surprise. Brad spoke to him in low tones for a few moments, then handed him a wad of money. It looked like quite a lot.

The man nodded and gestured at the delivery bay. The door started to rise on surprisingly well-oiled gears.

::Schuldig, do not speak out loud here. Get Nagi; I'll bring Farf.::

::Brad, what the hell is going on?::

::He's a doctor, though not of our accustomed caliber. He doesn't ask questions, so long as we pay in cash.::

I carried Nagi into the building. I had expected a filthy warehouse. What I found was a moderately clean clinic. The scrawny man gestured for me to lay the boy down on an examining table. I did so, then stepped back only as far as I had to.

::Yakuza?::

Brad smiled slightly. ::What else would he be, Schu?::

The doctor held Nagi's eyes open and flashed a beam of light across them, once, twice. Muttering in some local dialect I couldn't easily follow, the doctor scurried over to a large cabinet and started hauling things out of it. Plastic bags, tubing, needles.

Brad came over to stand a little behind me and touched my shoulder. ::Schuldig, give him some room to work. You can sit down, if you want.:: He guided me toward a faded but clean sofa along the wall.

I followed, out of exhaustion and habit more than desire to sit. ::I don't like this, Brad. How can we trust him?::

::Money is how we trust him, Schu. For all he knows, we are drug runners who got involved in a territory war. This is how he feeds his family. You'll see. He takes no samples, and incinerates all possible DNA traces. Doctors like this are the neutral ground in Japan's underworld. I thought you knew that.::

I snorted and leaned back, trying to relax. My head still hurt, though this sparsely populated neighborhood made it a little easier to deal with. ::Does he have any aspirin? Forget that, how about morphine?:: I quipped.

::Don't worry, he'll check you over too.::

::Oh, lovely. Hope he doesn't want me to undress.::

The doctor set up an intravenous drip for Nagi, then moved on to Farfarello. Brad had strapped him to a table before coming over to me, but I was still a little concerned for the doctor's safety. If Farf should wake up...

Soft cursing drifted to my ears. The doctor stared at Farf's injuries and shook his head, mumbling in angry Japanese. Then he strode over and confronted Brad.

They talked fast, too rapidly for me to follow without using telepathy, and I hurt too much to care. Brad hesitated, then pulled out some more money. The other man shoved it into a pocket and indicated for me to follow him. I frowned at Brad.

::He needs you to help move Farf to an X-ray machine. I can't do anymore; it hurts to breathe.:: Brad hugged himself and sat back down, his face ashen.

I wheeled the table over to a small X-ray device. The doctor didn't bother with lead shielding; he simply loaded the film, aimed the camera, and took five pictures of Farfarello's head. He carried the film to another door and knocked.

A very young woman peeked through the door. He handed her the film and she vanished back into the other room.

The doctor turned, then hurried over to the sofa, again muttering angrily.

I looked in that direction.

Brad had passed out.

A/N:

_And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed..._

Ah, here we go. Book of Revelation. Of course Farfarello would wonder about this. He's not a stupid man, and his injuries really should have been the end of him. At least he doesn't know that Ken also survived the fight... How many Beasts does it take to bring about the end of the world? To someone like Farfarello, I suspect the more the merrier, though two is a sort of traditional number. Oh, and Crawford would never just "leave" a member of his team behind. If Farfarello became too dangerous to keep, he would die a quick and easy death.

Translation notes –

"_Scheiße, Brad! Gottverdammt japanisch Musik!"_ is exactly what it looks like: "Shit, Brad! Goddamned Japanese music!"

_Gaijin_ means foreigner.

_Yakuza_ refers to Japanese organized crime.

_Thank you for the reviews! I love to read your comments and criticisms. Let's me know what you like and don't like!_

_Since I have been neglectful....back to the beginning:_

To **Reliak, Yanagi-sen, Krimson, Lady Kickass, May, CynicalPunk9, Lestat197, Koneko and Trunks8**: _It is Very nice to hear from all of you! I am so glad you like the story. It's already becoming a monster!_

To **Miss British Teacakes**: _Keep going huh? I'm going, I'm going!_

To **The Masked Instigator**: _Yes, I CAN tell you like it! Thank you!_

And finally to **Kit3**...who has reviewed..let's see...a total of 3 times since I started this : _I am glad you like this so much._

_To the rest who haven't reviewed but enjoy the story: So far I have about 15 chapters of work in progress...not done, but working on them...so you have much more time to review! Oh, and be in for a helluva ride!_

_I luv you all...you witty, lovely, crazy, fantastic Weiss/Schwarz fans. Oh, and if you have read this far...there is a rumor that I will be (in the future) working on the Weiss counterpart to this story. Mind you...this is just a rumor. I won't confirm or deny it. You'll just have to wait and see._


	6. 6

**6 **

_Relax, I'll need some information first...just the basic facts; can you show me where it hurts?_

My throat closed up in sudden panic; my hand reached instinctively for my gun.

The doctor checked Brad's pulse, then turned to me. Speaking slowly in more formal Japanese, he asked me what had happened.

I ignored Brad's injunction against speech. The man knew I was foreign, there was nothing for me to let slip anyway. "Broken ribs," I told him, "maybe more."

He started unbuttoning Brad's shirt, and I moved to help. The doctor muttered at me for getting in his way, but used the opportunity to take a quick look at the back of my head. His fingers were amazingly gentle, and rather cool. He felt my skull for bumps and other structural issues, then told me to sit the hell down and let him finish with Brad. I sat down, holding the linen shirt. Beside me, Brad began to stir.

::Hey, nice of you to join the party,:: I told him, trying to keep my concern at bay.

::How long was I out?::

::Long enough to X-ray Farf, not long enough to get the pictures back.::

Brad explained to the doctor where the pain was, and allowed him to unwrap the makeshift bandage. I flinched when I saw the dark bruises covering his torso. The doctor shook his head again, then helped Brad to his feet and led him to the X-ray machine.

I paced. Nagi lay as though simply sleeping, with a tube stuck in his arm. The bag was labeled in several languages. It was some kind of nutrient liquid. Absently I found my hand caressing the soft dark hair that spread out on the pillow like a halo. He looked so small, on that table, and his skin still felt too cold. On impulse I draped Brad's shirt over him like a blanket and stood there, not knowing where else to stand.

I realized I was still playing with Nagi's hair, and I smiled. He'd been such a small thing when Brad had brought him in for training. We were his guardians, his tutors, during a time when he was most vulnerable. Brad had found him on the streets in one of Japan's most desperate slums. The American had been on Esset business; they had not expected him to come back with a psi-talented child.

Crawford had brought him back, handed him off to me, and left again almost immediately. But not before telling me about the lice.

"Lice? As in _bugs_, Brad?" I had been appalled at the thought of bugs in my home, parasites carried in on a small, filthy urchin that I was obviously now expected to care for.

"Yes, Schuldig, lice. I'm sure he's clean now." And with that reassurance he had gone.

Now I played with his hair, so soft, so fine. When I had first met the child, his hair had been like straw, cooked and brittle from the chemical delouser. His scalp, too, had been burned, though not too badly. I had taken him into the bathroom and bathed him, changing the water several times for my own sanity. He had taken a liking to my fingernail brush, and scrubbed under his nails while I worked on salvaging his hair.

I had been so young and vain back then, with the world before me and a good career prospect. I was on a team, I had my own room in a decent apartment in preparation for leaving the facility with that team, and through Brad I had access to goods and treats I had barely remembered existed outside those walls. I had never been good at sharing, but I had used up nearly a whole bottle of my precious aloe conditioner on the boy, massaging it into his scalp, soothing the burn and turning his hair from scorched fiber to something resembling hair again. I had conditioned, rinsed, changed the water, then repeated the cycle until the water started to chill. Then I had lifted the exhausted child from the tub and wrapped him in towels, and carried him to the sofa. I'd wanted a smoke, but couldn't bring myself to light up. I had just sat there, cradling this little waif, drying his hair, as he had slept uncaring and trusting for perhaps the first time in his life.

I found myself crying; I quickly scrubbed the tears away. My hand was shaking. I didn't want to think about how close we had just come to losing him to the sea, or what I would do if Brad was wrong and Nagi didn't wake up. In many ways, Nagi was still that tiny urchin, lost and alone, but for some reason trusting me enough to sleep naked in my arms.

I started pacing again, stopping only when the doctor beckoned me to a chair. He disinfected my hand and scalp, and sewed up what needed sewing. While he worked on me, he spoke carefully with Brad, who was in no hurry to reclaim his shirt from where I had left it and simply stood there bandaged from hip to armpit.

After finishing with me, the doctor showed Brad the X-rays of his own injuries and of Farf's. Crawford sported six broken ribs; it was sheer luck that kept him from having a punctured lung to go along with it. And Farfarello had been damn near lobotomized. The doctor was no neurosurgeon, and had no grounding in psychology or brain disorders. He could only speculate what sort of long-term effects the Irishman would have. In my opinion, it didn't sound like much would change for him.

As for Nagi, the doctor couldn't find anything wrong, aside from a low body temperature and the fact that he had been unconscious five days. The boy was a little dehydrated, but we had kept him alive with the sports drink, and now he had an IV line in his arm. The doctor gave us half a dozen IV bags with that nutrient stuff in them, and showed Brad and me how to change them out.

The woman opened the door and pushed a little cart into the clinic, then shut the door quickly. On the cart were three bowls of fried noodles. I felt my mouth water in spite of my better judgment. I had never imagined food being such a rarity in my life. Farfarello had woken up at the sound of the door closing. He sat without help, and devoured his bowl of mystery meat noodles without comment. I finished picking at mine, not quite able to handle the meat but doing fair damage to the rest of it.

The clock on the wall showed it was nearly midnight.

::We have a place to stay the night,:: Brad told me. ::You'll have to get these two to the car, I won't be much help for a couple more days. But we have the means to care for Nagi, and we have medicine now to help with Farf's seizures. If we can just get through the next few weeks...::

Brad and I watched as the doctor piled the X-rays and needles and anything else that might have our blood on it into a small pottery kiln and closed the door. He turned it on, and even at this distance we could feel the heat rising. Brad nodded. The doctor's work was done as promised.

Brad reclaimed his shirt and I lay Nagi across the back seat. Farf took shotgun. Brad gave me directions through the back alleys to a warehouse by the docks. It looked nasty.

A heavily tattooed man met us at the door. The doctor had called ahead, told him to expect guests. He told Brad to pull the car inside and opened the garage door for us.

Inside the warehouse, twenty or so young men were busy stripping and painting cars and working on small electronics. I picked up enough random thoughts to know that this was only a small part of a much larger fencing operation, and that harboring territory war refugees was a part of their daily routine.

::And I thought Takatori was the low point in my career,:: I quipped, reaching for a cigarette and cursing when I realized they were in the trunk of the car.

::Schuldig, not now.::

Farf was steady enough to carry our bags, so I loaded him down. Brad and I cleaned out everything we intended to keep from the car, then I carried Nagi to the small room that would be our home away from home for the night. No beds, no cots, just thin futons on the floor, but there were blankets and an electric hotplate, and we had free access to water and a bathroom with a working lock on the door, so it wasn't all bad.

::Schuldig. You're projecting.::

::Sorry.:: Shit, but my shields were damn near nonexistent now. I had been so concerned about my teammates that I had totally neglected myself, and now I was a wreck. ::Hey, is it safe for me to walk around outside a bit? You know, suck some nicotine?::

Brad pondered a moment, then said out loud, "Smoke outside. There's a little shop a few doors down, go see what you can find there." He handed me some money. "You'll sleep better if you do."

I frowned, then dug out my cigarettes and lighter and moved toward the door. ::You okay with these two, Brad?::

::I don't See anything significant for the next few hours, so go and take a break, Schuldig. I know you need it.::

One of the yakuza let me out and promised to watch for my return. I leaned against the unlit wall and put a cigarette to my lips, the first in far too long. I wasn't exactly addicted, but they sure did help with the shielding. Not addicted? Hell. My hands shook as I struck fire and brought it to the tip.

The first inhalation made me choke, but the second was pure heaven.

I stood there and allowed my mind to rest. The minds of the yakuza in the warehouse were all humming along in a harmonious buzz that allowed me to pretty much ignore them. Minds in unison were so much more bearable than the fiercely independent, or the egotistic and agitated minds found throughout the more populated areas. This wharfside slum was actually quite comforting to my bruised and overworked psyche.

I never could stay still for long. Restlessness and curiosity pushed and pulled me toward that little shop Brad had mentioned. It looked like it was closed, but as I stood there staring at the window, I saw movement inside. The door, though, was locked.

As if hearing me try the doorknob, the figure inside opened the door a crack, suspicion and fear flowing out with the thickly accented dialect.

I bowed, trying to figure out the best course of action here. Sticking with the more formal usage, I said, "Good evening, auntie. Is this a shop for tourists?"

She frowned, but let me in. Junk food, soft drinks, booze, and dusty boxes cluttered the shelves. In the back, a small freezer hummed and hiccupped. I browsed around, more pleased than I'd expected to be. I found a little wicker basket and started filling it with things that looked tasty, highly sugared, loaded with caffeine, and/or alcoholic. On second thought, I put back the bottles of booze and gave a closer look to the selection. A bottle of high-proof vodka went into the basket, along with a good strong whiskey. Either could be used medicinally, if need be. Rum had too much sugar for that.

As I turned toward the checkout counter, my gaze fell on a bin of dusty cassette tape boxes. I set the basket down and started rummaging, my mood lifting even more.

By the time I was done, I barely had enough cash in hand to pay for it all. Something about the situation made me want to keep honest, here, so I gave her the money and she handed me my basket with a smile. I bowed and left, completely pleased with myself.

She locked the door behind me.

A/N:

_Relax, I'll need some information first...just the basic facts; can you show me where it hurts?_

"Comfortably Numb" from _The Wall_ by Pink Floyd, a signature Crawford band. Brad Crawford is not the kind of man to accept drugs for extreme pain: he would rather confront it and defy it to even touch him in the first place. He won't allow the yakuza doctor to give him anything strong enough to make him foggy, though he's in more pain than he's showing. Thanks to the mental link between the members of Schwarz, and the more intimate link forming between him and Schuldig, Crawford's personal soundtrack to this story will work its way into Schu's head, giving him some well-known songs to hold on to and a little more insight into his leader's viewpoint.


	7. 7

**7**

_and I'm young enough to look at and far too old to see,  
all the scars are on the inside_

_I'm not sure that there's anything left to me_

Something woke me from fitful sleep, and for several horrible moments I had no idea where I was, or when. Memories clashed with imagination and reality, dragging me into my own private hell. I could hear heavy footsteps outside a heavy door, the distant growl of spoken German, and incoherent screaming. Cold sweat poured down the back of my shirt. The darkness echoed my own panicked breathing, too loud, too fast, as I groped for the cool comfort of my gun.

Before I found my weapon, I realized I had been dreaming. The sounds faded into silence, and the voices in my head murmured in harsh Japanese, the dialect of crime. With grudging slowness, the past few days sorted themselves into more or less neat heaps in my mind. Then the most recent hours came clear: the warehouse, the yakuza, the futons on the floor.

I tried to relax, but when I reached for the light my hand was shaking so violently I nearly knocked the damn lamp off its stand. Waxy thirty-watt light glowed dimly in spite of my fumbling. I ran a hand through my hair; sweat chills followed it.

Fuck, but I needed a cigarette.

Nagi was still where we had put him, lying on his back between me and Crawford. He slept on, unmindful of my panic attack. I checked his IV line and the clear plastic bag that was keeping him alive. It would need changing in a few more hours. I didn't want to change it too early; we didn't dare waste any of it.

Crawford lay by the wall, half curled around his wounded chest. He slept deeply; the shot of whiskey had done its job well. I watched him breathe for a few moments, relieved that it looked deep and even and regular. I wondered if he ever had nightmares like mine. It wasn't something you talked about, and on second thought I decided I didn't really want to know.

Against the opposite wall, Farfarello slept without the straitjacket. The doctor had given him a powerful anti-seizure injection, and had given Brad a two-week supply and a list of alternative drugs in the event that this one didn't do the job. So far, so good, though. Farf hadn't seized since that time in the car.

Carefully disentangling myself from my sweat-drenched bedding, I levered myself up, only now really noticing how stiff and sore I was. My right hand stung along the suture lines; I had to be careful not to tear the stitches open. I tried to look them over, make sure I hadn't already ripped them out in my sleep, but the little lamp wasn't suited for that sort of work. It merely glowed reassuringly in the corner, providing a little anchor to reality.

All around us, the nocturnal denizens of Japan's underworld conducted their business and went about their lives. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to take a little look, partly out of curiosity, and partly to make sure that everything was working correctly upstairs. My shields had never been top notch, but they had become total wreckage after the tower. Whether the failing shields caused the headache or the other way around, I was getting pretty disgusted with the constant nagging pain. I needed to figure out just how bad off I was.

I let my mind float, tasting those around me, widening the net to a city block, then more. It was oddly soothing, riding the waves of humanity like that. Not for the first time I wished I could invade people's dreams, but that's a rare talent among telepaths, and not one that I possessed. The dreaming mind is different from the waking mind, just as the insane are different from the rational. It was my misfortune to be able to deal with madness better than with dreams.

I felt myself smile. Self-contemplation wasn't one of my strong suits either. I worked past my own distracted mumbles and sent my thoughts out again into the night.

Somewhere out there, the men of Weiß were recovering from their own injuries. I wondered how they fared, with their skilled and trusted doctors and safe beds in which to rest. I couldn't resist looking for them, so I did. ::Here, kitty kitty...::

It didn't work, but I really hadn't expected it to. I didn't know them well enough to recognize the feel of their minds among so many, and I really had no idea if they were even within range. But the mental exercise had done some good: it had kept me entertained, and even lessened my headache a little. This constant buzzing headache really was getting on my nerves. Anything that could distract me from it was a good thing, and looking for Weiß had been fairly distracting.

I got up and let myself out of the room as quietly as I could. The bathroom was calling and I could ignore it no longer. After relieving myself, I took advantage of the sixty-watt light dangling over the sink and studied my injured hand. The stitches looked sturdy, if a bit inflamed. I'd keep an eye on it for the next day or so. It should start to look better by then. Or rot clean off. Either way, it'd be a done deal.

I left the toilet and stretched as I walked. My back gave a series of pops and cracks that didn't seem quite as reassuring as I'd hoped they'd be. Near the warehouse ceiling, narrow windows showed a sky already growing light. I groaned. Sleep was done, then. I returned to our room.

Clear dark eyes regarded me as I entered. "How are you feeling?" Brad asked in a whisper. "Ready to drive?"

"Sure, just let me have a cup of coffee and about five thousand cigarettes first," I mumbled. "Slept like shit."

"Sorry to hear that." Brad checked his own bandages, then started dressing for travel. "These next few weeks will be critical, so I need you to stay sharp. Any problems with your talent, I want you to tell me immediately."

"Well, my shields are still gone, but other than that, it seems okay. We all know I can still project." That last came out a bit louder and sharper than I really wanted, but I was upset. Brad knew that my shields had always been a little iffy, thanks to the diligent instruction at Esset's very own school for gifted youngsters, but to have them all but nonexistent at a time when the team needed me really pissed me off.

"Use your music, Schu. It's always helped you focus before." Brad rummaged in a bag for a moment, then stepped over to me and handed me a can of coffee. "Here. You'd better get started, though I doubt you have enough cigarettes for your agenda."

_A/N_

__

_and I'm young enough to look at and far too old to see,  
all the scars are on the inside_

_I'm not sure that there's anything left to me _ __

"Veteran of the Psychic Wars," _Fire of Unknown Origin_ by Blue Öyster Cult. BÖC is another musical signature for Brad, though several of their songs seem to have been written just for Schuldig. I'm not altogether sure whether this quote belongs to Schu's nightmare which we catch a glimpse of in this chapter, or to Brad's nightmares as yet unexplored. Thoughts, gentle readers?

And yes, Schu's comment about "Esset's very own school for gifted youngsters" is a direct and sarcastic reference to X-Men. (Oh, how their lives would have been so different if only Professor Xavier had found them first!)


	8. 8

**8**

_if all you told was turned to gold, if all you dreamed were new,  
imagine sky high above in Caribbean blue..._

"I'll watch the boy."

I gave Brad an odd look, then we both turned to look at Farfarello. The Irishman stood over Nagi, regarding us with a calm eye. ::Brad, is this a good idea, do you think?::

::Well, one of us will be driving, and the other can keep an eye on things. I'm more concerned about him getting angry if we don't let him help.::

"I know you're talking about me. I won't hurt him, Crawford. I'm not about that."

"I didn't accuse you," Crawford stated, adjusting his glasses with a casual hand. His thoughts were on full alert, though outside he displayed only calm. ::Schu, I'll drive. You watch them. I'm getting mixed possibilities on this one.::

"You didn't have to. I won't hurt him. He...he saved our lives. I belong to him now. We all do." With that, Farfarello bent down and picked Nagi up as tenderly as a good parent.

"Let's get going." Brad shouldered the smaller bag and headed for the door.

I collected the rest of our things, our meager fortune as it were, and followed my team to the car.

It wasn't the same car we'd come in with. This one was sleek and black, with tinted windows and, a delightful surprise for me, a totally tricked out stereo. I smiled in spite of myself. This temporary exile might not be too bad, if it included things like this. I settled into the passenger seat, sighing at the firm, leather-clad luxury of it. It even felt good to rest my head against, so I did. A better bed I had rarely found than a good leather car seat.

"Thanks for taking this part of the drive, Brad. I'm still tired from last night."

"Take this time to pull yourself together, Schuldig. I'm not kidding, things are going to be hairy for a while." He put down the arm rest, fiddled with something on the side of it, and flipped it open. "These are for you."

I looked down. There was a tape compartment inside, and it was full of gaijin music. I grinned. Between these and the ones I'd bought at the little shop the previous evening, we had my taste and Crawford's pretty much covered. "I'm impressed, Brad! You remembered!"

"I did nothing of the sort," he said around a smile as he started the car. "I merely traded our blue sedan, presumably not on the missing or stolen list anywhere, for a car that wouldn't be looked at twice and all the gaijin tapes they could spare."

"Not looked at twice? Whose car is this, Brad?" I asked, knowing full well how these things worked in the world of the yakuza.

"It's a gift from one of the higher ups in this clan. Repayment for an old debt, as it were. As far as the police are concerned, you don't mess with this car. And that's saying a lot."

With all the choices of music, oddly enough I couldn't decide on one, so I tried silence for a little while. I didn't do that often, and the novelty of it pleased me. Beside me, Brad drove with his usual care and confidence, obviously with a destination already in mind.

Enough silence. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"We're going to stay with the lord's nephew for a couple of days. It's a smaller place, but totally secure. They're trying to arrange something a little more long-term for us; we wait there until they do."

A soft voice from the back seat caught my attention. I turned to look.

Farfarello, Nagi's head cradled upon his lap, was singing. I hadn't heard him do that in a long time, and never around Crawford. Now he sang, unmindful of any audience but one. He sang for the sleeping boy, and his voice was beautiful. I closed my eyes and let his sure and strong tenor wash over me like wind.

I thought I should feel like an eavesdropper, but I didn't. When he sang, his voice slipped into older accents that suited him better than the flat tones he used for speech. In those moments, it was hard to remember that he was dangerously insane.

Farf gently brushed the hair from Nagi's forehead, caressing the cool skin of his face with calloused fingertips. I opened myself to his mind a little bit, just to be sure. He was totally focused on his song, and on Nagi. I probed a little further; it was usually a bad sign when Farfarello focused on a person so strongly, and Brad had Seen mixed possibilities for the day. But I found nothing to worry over. The man was honestly worried about his teammate, and full of confused emotions ranging from tenderness to sorrow. I withdrew from his mind before he noticed I was there.

Or, so I thought. Farfarello looked up at me, eye full of grief. "Do you really think I'd harm him? I know I'm damaged, moreso now than before, but really, Schuldig. Don't you trust me?"

I sighed, feeling as heavy as if I'd just shot my best friend. "Far," I said, using the nickname only I used for him, "I do trust you. But be honest, you don't even really trust yourself most of the time. And it's happened before. I know you remember."

"Aye, I do remember." He stroked Nagi's cheek. "And it worked, didn't it."

I felt Brad turn his attention to the back seat; he was already looking for a safe place to pull off the road.

"God knew him, and kept him alive. He doesn't want a boy this powerful in his heaven, so he kept him here, with us."

"Farfarello," Brad addressed him in a commanding voice, "what is your intention?"

"I would die for him, Crawford. You know that. I said we belong to Nagi now, he saved our lives and we should all be ready to die for him."

"I don't foresee anyone dying for anybody just yet," Brad stated. "Are you in a safe way, Farfarello? I know you've been injured, but I need to rely on the team, and you're part of that team. Can I rely on you?"

"Of course, Crawford. You can always count on me." His golden eye glowed with wounded pride, and his voice shook a little with emotion. It sounded like the old accent had stuck a little; his speech had taken on an odd, rolling quality of late. I wondered if it were a result of the head wound, or a rebellion against his training.

"All right, then. We are almost at our next stop. You will be responsible for Nagi for the next two days. Schuldig, you will be responsible for Nagi's IV. You'll need to change it out when we arrive."

::Glad I don't have to worry about needles,:: I sent to Brad. ::Wouldn't be good for Farfarello to see any blood.::

In the back seat, Farfarello resumed his singing.

A/N: Woo hoo! Two chapters uploaded this week! So these are for Kit and Yanagi-sen who just can't get enough. Now on to the story notes:

_if all you told was turned to gold, if all you dreamed were new..._

__

"Caribbean Blue," from Enya's _Shepherd Moons_ album. Yes, Farfarello listens to Enya. (She's one of the few Celtic artists Crawford will allow him to listen to, as she doesn't get him riled up and angry like some of the others. Then again, it wouldn't really be a question of what Farf was _allowed_ to listen to; he'd manage to find things, and good luck taking them away again!) She reminds him of something from long ago, something good and safe and warm. It makes sense that he would use her music as a lullaby for Nagi, the dreaming boy with blue, blue eyes.


	9. 9

**9 **

_it won't give up it wants me dead  
goddamn this voice inside my head_

"Well, we're four for five. Isn't that great." I pressed my thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose. The headache that had become my near-constant companion since the beach had decided to pulsate, fading in and out with no regard for my feelings on the matter. And it made me bitchy, to say the least.

In the driver's seat, Brad frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Four hideouts in five days. That has to be some kind of record, even in their line of business." Not that one could call that last place a hideout. The apartment was far too small for one person, let alone for all of us. Not to mention, it was a toss-up whether the place or its owner smelled worse. "I just hope number four is an improvement, or we may as well go back to the hut on the beach and take our chances there."

"Will you shut up for once?" Farfarello growled in a low monotone, the soft lilt once again missing from his voice. "Or don't you understand what's happened?"

"Oh, please enlighten me," I snapped, temper frayed to the splitting point by stress and pain and no little amount of fear.

Farf turned his head to focus his single eye on my face. He took a slow and deep breath, then said, "His visions are keeping us alive, and I think he's called in nearly all the favors he had stashed away in this country. And you're just scared that you'll go crazy like me before Nagi ever wakes up."

I bit back the sarcastic comment that had nearly leapt from my mouth. As usual, Farf's insight made me think, though at the moment I didn't really appreciate it. I _was_ afraid, that much was true. I was scared and sleep deprived and hurting, and I couldn't just stop and rest and work it through.

Clearly expecting no reply, Farfarello turned his attention back to the window, though whether he was taking in the scenery or contemplating his reflection I couldn't begin to guess. The smoky windows made sight-seeing a little difficult.

I sighed again, trying to diffuse the frustration and pain. What's that meditation shit about your breath being the fire of your existence or something? I tried to concentrate on breathing, and not ponder the deeper Zen of it all.

"We're here."

A/N:

_it won't give up it wants me dead  
goddamn this voice inside my head_

__

"The Becoming" from Nine Inch Nails _The Downward Spiral._ Listen to the whole album, if you have it. This is kind of what a telepathic meltdown in progress might feel like... Schu is in a bad way, and it's starting to show. Fortunately for everyone around him, he's also getting more distractible than usual, hence the very short chapter nine.

Review Response:

Thank you all for your reviews! I'm glad that so many people are enjoying this story.

_Lestat197_ – yep, know all about Rosenhell – not even a nice place to visit, IMHO. For accuracy points, I'm not using the manga; decided to go with the TV series only for continuity's sake.

_May_ – buckle your seat belts, the excitement has yet to reach full speed. There will be occasional Weiss moments, most notoriously some YXS, and some unlooked-for help in later chapters, so stay tuned!

_Yanagi-sen_ – I'm going, I'm going!

_Chibi-Nezumi_ – Thank you for your comments on the plot, it's been rattling around in my head getting thicker and thicker lately. Brad does have a human side, but it takes sadistic authors like me to peel away his armor and show it to people. As for the Farf and Nagi angle, there is definitely _some_ kind of interest there…

Until next time!

GuiltyRed


	10. 10

**10**

_what have i become?_

_my sweetest friend_

_everyone i know_

_goes away in the end_

I looked up. We were parked in front of a traditional Japanese home, rather large and immaculate on the outside, with a vast garden stretching away toward the treeline. We had come fairly high up into the mountains; this place wasn't on any legal map, I was certain of it. Of course, Brad had told us we'd be guests of the brother of a yakuza lord, so I had no reason to be surprised. That was simply how Brad Crawford operated, after all.

A young man and two women greeted us at the car. The man spoke with Crawford, while the women helped with our bags. Farfarello again carried Nagi as we followed the younger woman into the house.

She led us to the western wing of the home, which proved to be even larger than it looked from the outside. There, she showed us a suite of rooms that would be our home for as long as Crawford had arranged for. He hadn't told us that detail. Maybe it wasn't settled yet. In any case, we had two sizeable rooms and a bathroom all to ourselves. I set the bags down in one corner and stretched, starting to feel almost happy. I was going to get a bath! Since the day of the ritual, I had gotten only one brief shower, and it had been chilly and cramped. Brad and I had squeezed into the tiny shower stall at the tiny little apartment we'd just left, and the tiny water heater had given out after about ten tiny minutes. It had barely been enough to rinse off the pain sweat that reeked from our underarms.

And now we were staying in a real house, with womenfolk who wanted nothing more than to cook for us and run us as many hot baths as we wanted. I was in heaven!

"See to Nagi first, Schu," Brad said as he joined us in the room. "I've got them preparing a bath for him, and some food for the rest of us."

Farfarello had opened the door to the garden and stood at the threshold gazing out. "Crawford," he called back, "mind if I take a walk for a while?"

"Not at all, Farf. Just watch out for the vegetable garden, don't step on anything edible."

Farf grinned. "Define edible. We're gaijin, remember?" With that he was off, enjoying the fresh air and wan sunshine before nightfall.

I stripped off my shirt and grimaced. "I don't suppose they have laundry facilities?"

"Better. The lord of the house is away on business for two weeks. We have full run of the place while he's gone. That includes the grace of his family. We don't have to worry about anything except tending our wounds." Brad dropped his own shirt on the growing pile of laundry, though he kept his t-shirt on. He came over to me and touched my arm, an unexpected moment of tenderness. "We have a little respite from things here, Schu. Use it."

He stood so close, his face so near to mine; I leaned in for a kiss, and he didn't pull away. My hands rose to his shoulders and my weary body responded in spite of itself. He pulled me to him, embraced me and deepened the kiss.

Too soon he moved back, gazing at me with soul-dark eyes. "Nagi first, Schu. We'll have time later."

I nodded, breathless still from the kiss. I had wanted this man for so many years, and to have him agreeable now was dizzying. He was absolutely right, though; we had to take care of Nagi first.

It had been, what, eight days since the tower? I was having trouble keeping numbers straight in my head lately. It had to have been eight, and he still had shown no sign of waking. He was still cool to the touch, still breathing like a little clockwork, and still asleep. I couldn't shake the feeling of irony: first the Fujimiya girl, and now our own Nagi. Somewhere I wondered if the girl's brother was gloating that now we knew his pain.

Brad unhooked the bag, careful to disinfect and then bandage the IV hookup still in Nagi's arm. We got the chibi undressed and I carried him to the bath. The youngest of the three women, the daughter of the lord, I presumed, bowed deeply and told us the water was ready. She left as we entered, and I heard her picking up clothes from our room.

Together we eased him into the tub. The water was perfect, soothing and warm. So different from the cold saltwater that had been his most recent bath. I took the bar of soap and washed one limp hand, then the other. I didn't feel confident enough to wash his hair, or much else of a challenging nature, with him unconscious like that. I soaped what I could, and then just swirled the water around a little, wondering if it would help get him warm.

Before it started to cool too much, Brad let some of the water run out of the tub. "Help me, Schu. I don't want him getting bedsores on top of everything." Brad lifted Nagi with surprising care and skill. "I'll hold him, you use the soap."

I hurried to finish the bathing before the boy got chilled again. To fill the silence, I asked Brad if he'd ever worked as a nurse. "You're damn good at this, you know."

He snorted. "I was a farm kid. You get good at lifting and washing uncooperative creatures. At least he isn't fighting it."

"Farm kid? Brad! I'm stunned," I teased, grinning.

"Bite me, Schuldig. Are you done yet?"

I ran a little fresh water and finished rinsing. "Done."

"Get the towel." Brad lifted Nagi out of the tub and cradled him against his chest.

We dried him off, and I noticed that he seemed a little warmer. Brad carried him back to our rooms and set him carefully on a futon. We didn't bother dressing him; he didn't really have anything wearable anyway, and the room was warm. I wrapped a blanket around him and knelt at his bedside. Brad handed me the business end of the IV line and set about hanging the bag from the window fittings. I hooked up the line with shaking hands, doubly grateful that I didn't have to deal with needles.

"He will wake up, Schu. I promise." Brad's hand squeezed my shoulder gently.

I stood and turned. In my head, I could hear the soft murmur from Brad's shields, reassuring and constant. But in spite of his closeness to me, other thoughts leaked in from the rest of the household, meaningless chatter in rapid Japanese. I was right, then: my shields were truly gone. I tried to keep everyone out, everyone but Brad, and it hurt. Then the events of the past week hit me all at once; worry, fear, pain, loss, and exhaustion overwhelmed me and I broke down and cried.

A/N:

_what have i become?_

_my sweetest friend_

_everyone i know_

_goes away in the end_

NIN, _The Downward Spiral – _"Hurt". Our tormented telepath is in a vulnerable state, afraid to reach out, afraid to just wait and see. Perhaps he just knows how this all must eventually end...

Translation notes –

_chibi_ – child


	11. 11

**11**

_threatened by shadows at night and exposed to the light, shine on, you crazy diamond_

Brad gathered me into his arms and I pressed my face against his wet t-shirt and sobbed. Words would not come, but I babbled anyway, incoherent sounds of anguish like the moans of a dying animal.

And he held me, standing there next to our unconscious Nagi, the boy who was as good as our own son. Together we had cared for him when Brad first brought him to Germany. Brad had taught him to speak proper English, and I had taught him less than proper German. Brad had arranged his training and his team assignment, while I had held him when he was injured, in training and later on missions with the team. With Takatori, we had intervened in his punishments, with me getting beaten twice over so he would not be harmed. And sometimes we had failed, but mostly I felt like we had been good parents to this child, and he had been unconscious now for over a week and I was so afraid we'd lose him.

Brad murmured soft words to me, comforting words, vague promises that things would turn out all right. But I could feel his fear, hear the unspoken words of uncertainty that haunted him in his unguarded moments, like now.

"Schu, get out of my head."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can't help it, Brad. I'm out of control, and I don't know how to fix it."

::I know how to start.:: He kissed me, deep and strong and uncompromising, his arms powerful about me, his presence forcing all else from my thoughts.

I melted into the essence that was Brad Crawford, unable to do anything else. Strong hands guided me away from Nagi and toward another futon covered with pillows and blankets. He only let go of me to remove his t-shirt and unfasten my pants. I started to reach for his but he pinned my arms and shook his head. I allowed him to ease me back down onto our bed, the smell of his body making my head spin.

Brad gently slid my pants down and off, and my undershorts with them. He kissed me again, claiming my mouth with his own, then trailed kisses down my neck, making me shiver. His fingers tickled up and down my thighs, then traced across my belly, teasing. I shut my eyes, surprised to feel myself blushing furiously. I was totally under his control, and loving it.

Part of my mind – the dark, suspicious part conditioned against the idea of kindness – screamed that he was using me, trying to control me; he hadn't shown any interest since the beach and couldn't possibly be doing this out of the goodness of his heart. I didn't care; his shields engulfed my mind like a fortress, and my body demanded attention whether Brad's desire were real or merely skillful acting. Real was a relative thing to me, anyway; always had been.

His hands slid up my thighs as he kissed his way downward until one hand gripped my shaft with firm intent and his lips closed gently around the tip. My hands clutched at his shoulders as my hips bucked upward.

I had never expected this from him, would never have asked for it. Crawford was my leader, my master, he could have demanded the same from me at any time yet never had, and now he gave it freely to me. Freely? Again the paranoid howl from my psyche, and I told it to shut the hell up.

He stroked and sucked, clearly knowing exactly how to do this, and I was helpless against the ecstasy of it. I thrust into his mouth and he accepted it, stroking a little faster, his hand so strong around me and his tongue hot and soft.

I groaned, and he echoed the sound, the vibration upon my flesh exquisite. My fingers twined in his hair and urged him to continue, begged him to finish what he'd started. My mind swirled in the pleasure, brushed against his mind, felt the erotic joy there and joined with it. I could feel Brad stroking himself even as he pleasured me, and I felt the startled recognition in his thoughts when he realized what was happening. Then, the gentle swell and flow of his shields as he allowed the contact to continue, to deepen, as he welcomed my passion with his own.

I came, crying out and shuddering with the force of it. Brad moaned, fighting the pull of the pleasure, trying to hold back. As my waves of ecstasy started to recede, he gave one more suckling kiss then moved to position himself between my thighs. I raised my legs, inviting him, but he held back, instead gazing at my face and playing with my hair. Then he was kissing me again, and I tasted myself in his mouth. He embraced me tightly as his mind whispered, ::I will never let you go.::

A faint scraping sound caused both of us to look toward the outer door. Farfarello stood there, just returning from his walk. He gazed at us with no surprise and shut the door.

Brad pulled a blanket over us; I could feel his erection wilting at the interruption. He was frowning a little, but his eyes...his eyes were laughing.

::I knew that would happen.::

A/N:

_threatened by shadows at night and exposed to the light, shine on, you crazy diamond_

__

Pink Floyd, "Shine On Crazy Diamond", _Wish You Were Here_. Brad has taken control of things for now, saving Schu from the shadows and the light so that he can remember how to shine.


	12. 12

**12**

_How does it feel to treat me like you do?_

_When you lay your hands upon me and told me who you are?_

I toweled my hair, rejoicing in the fresh feel and smell of being really clean at last. Brad had already dried off and, to my disappointment, put on underclothes to sleep in. I had hoped we could pick up where we'd left off, but his expression told me that wasn't going to happen. The man had stronger will than most, that was for certain. Things would go by his schedule, no other. Even sex had to fit the master's calendar.

I strolled over to him, dropping my towels as I went. Naked, I stood before him and stretched, trying to look as inviting as possible.

Brad looked up from his newspaper. "It's late. You should get some sleep."

From the bathroom came sounds of a fresh bath being run. Farfarello came back into the room only to drop his clothes on the laundry pile and to give me an amused look, then he went to take his long-awaited bath.

I looked down at Brad and pouted. "Brad..."

"Schuldig."

I gave him my most alluring pose and purred, "He'll be a while, you know. We have some time."

Brad sighed and folded his paper. Then he looked up at me with an expression of great patience. "Schu, no. Not tonight. You've had yours, be happy. I can wait. We need to get some sleep."

"But, Brad..." I knelt by his futon and reached out to caress his hip. I pouted again. "I am happy, but I want to make you happy too. I know you held back."

"I'm fine, Schu." He regarded me with those black-coffee eyes, dark upon dark, and graced me with a tiny smile. "Trust me. The wait will be worth it."

I flopped down on the futon next to him, earning myself a slightly sour look. "Can I sleep with you?"

He sighed. "Do as you like, Schuldig. We're just sleeping."

I lay down, helping myself to his bedding and pillow, hoping that he would change his mind about the just-sleeping bit.

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight was slanting across our window.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes," observed Farfarello around a mouthful of poached fish.

"Good," said Brad, "I'll only have to say this once, then. I'm leaving for a few days. There's some business I need to attend to, and I have to go alone. I'll be fine, I've Seen that much, so don't try arguing, Schuldig."

I shut my mouth.

"The ladies here will take care of feeding you and washing our clothes. You two will take care of Nagi. Understood?"

"Understood, Crawford." Farf looked at him with curiosity. "What sort of business, if it's any of mine to ask?"

"Financial. And news gathering. I need to know if they're moving yet. And if so, how close." Brad finished dressing in a dark suit, no doubt borrowed from the yakuza lord whose house we now enjoyed. I hadn't been able to cram any dress clothes in the bags on my desperate rampage through our old apartment, and I knew he hadn't been out shopping.

I threw on my jeans and a baggy shirt and followed him to the car. "Brad, are you sure about this? I hate for you to go alone like this."

"I'm sure. I have to, Schu," he said, rather gently. "They won't deal with witnesses, not even bodyguards. I know these people. I'll be fine," he repeated, whether for my benefit or his own I couldn't say.

On impulse, I leaned in and kissed him. "Be safe," I whispered, and turned and walked back into the house without another look. Despite his reassurances, I was desperately worried. Without him, what chance would we have? He had left Nagi in my care, basically left me in charge of the team in his absence. I never wanted that kind of responsibility, that's why he was leader and I was his second. Without him there, I had to act the part of responsible leader, a thing which totally went against my natural temperament.

More in keeping with my nature, worry quickly morphed into petulance. I thought about how distant he still was, how he could turn passion on and off like a light switch at his convenience. I wondered if he really cared for me, or if it was just another Rosenkreuz moment, considering how easily he had brushed off my advances last night as if nothing had ever happened. I hated this.

The women smiled and laughed softly as I passed by, and I realized that, in effect, they saw me as Brad's "wife," a non-combatant to be left behind in safety. Great. Just what I wanted, three Japanese women giggling about the pretty, long-haired gaijin, the lunatic, and the poor little half-caste. I considered giving the nasty little hens migraines out of spite.

Wait a minute – I tuned in to the middle one's thoughts, the daughter of the eldest and aunt to the youngest. I felt a nasty smile curl my lip, and realized that I could make Brad pay for "leaving me with the women." Oh, yes, he would pay.

They thought I was Brad's man-wife, or man-mistress. Not too far off the mark, if I had my way about it, though deciphering Brad's moods was proving damn annoying. They thought Farfarello was our servant. And they thought that Nagi was Brad's son, possibly illegitimate. Oh, this was too fun for words!

As I returned to our sleeping room, all manner of things went through my mind. I could hold this over Crawford for months! I could extort favors! I could –

On his futon, Nagi lay just as he had, no expression, no movement except for his breathing.

My wicked mirth fled, replaced by hard reality.

"When do we change his baggie?" Farfarello asked from the corner. He had been sitting there watching Nagi while I followed Brad to the car.

I had left Farf alone with Nagi. I swallowed down a sudden panic and tried to answer his question. "Actually, I need to turn it off for a while. There's a valve here, he only takes a dose every few hours or so. We need to ration it out."

As I turned the little lever on the line, an uncomfortable thought occurred to me: how could Nagi still be alive at all? For the first four days, almost five, he had had very little in the way of fluids, only what we could force down his throat without choking him. His body functions must have all but ceased. How could he have survived this long? I stroked his baby-fine hair and wondered.

Obviously, he had spent a great deal of energy at the tower and in the sea. He had only exerted himself that much once before that I knew of, with the Schreient girl and the destruction of Masafumi's lab. That blast of power had knocked him out for three days. The girl had apparently revived and wandered off, not to be seen by us again.

Had Nagi, in fact, done for all of us and for himself what he had done for that girl? Had he mended our injuries just enough so they would not kill us? And was he keeping himself alive? His body temperature had been very low; was he hibernating, somehow?

"What is it?" Farfarello asked, staring at me.

"Huh?"

"Is something wrong with the boy?" he asked, getting up and coming toward us.

"No, I was just thinking," I murmured, rising to meet the Irishman. "How it's weird that he hasn't given up and died on us." I regretted the words as soon as they hit the air.

"It's not his time," Farf said, quite matter-of-fact. "He won't die until it's his time. You should know that."

I breathed a sigh of relief that he seemed lucid today. I looked at his face, seeking the deep intelligence burning in that one golden orb, and I shook my head in weary resignation. "I'm sorry, Far, but I don't think I know much of anything lately."

Pale hands rose to my shoulders and embraced me lightly. The faint leather and sandalwood scent that was Farfarello on a good day filled my senses, and I sighed and relaxed against him for a moment.

"Do you really think he saved us, Far?"

"Of course he did. Who else? Even God quails before the power of this boy, Schuldig." He regarded the comatose child with something like reverence.

I fought down the shiver that his words brought. I had to get him out of this room before anything happened. With Farfarello, one had to be careful, and correct timing was crucial. The moments between safety and death were sometimes very brief.

"Well, I'll watch him for a while, Far. Why don't you take a walk? It's a lovely day."

He smiled and kissed the corner of my mouth like he always did, when we were alone together, back before the tower. "Come with me, pretty? He'll sleep fine by himself for a bit."

"No, I'd better stay here," I said, brushing my cheek against his in catlike affection. We had shared an easy intimacy since the founding of Schwarz, and I hoped never to lose that closeness. Though my heart ached for Crawford, there were times that only the mad Irishman could soothe my soul. "Bring me back some flowers, okay?"

"I will. And some for the lamb as well. He'll be waking soon, I think." With that, Farfarello strode to the door and out.

A/N:

_How does it feel to treat me like you do? _

_When you lay your hands upon me and told me who you are? _

The song: "Blue Monday". The group: Orgy. The album: _Candyass_. The mood: pure Schuldig. The mood swings of our dear wounded telepath will only get worse before they start to get better, so fasten your seat belts, we're in for a rough ride. Currently he's throwing a tantrum that Brad could play with his feelings so effectively, though it's pretty obvious that, as far as his feelings are concerned, Schuldig is really just playing with himself.

A comment about Tot: it stands to reason that, as last survivor of Takatori Masafumi's household, and (aside from the missing younger brother Takatori Mamoru) possibly the last surviving connection to the entire Takatori fortune, she would become the sole heiress of Masafumi's drug company and anything else daddy Reiji may have given to his weird son. Scary thought, ne?   oO


	13. 13

**13**

_i hurt myself today, to see if i still feel_

_i focus on the pain, the only thing that's real_

I exhaled, forcing my stress out with the spent air. He was obsessing over Nagi again. This was a dangerous thing, a potential disaster, and with Brad gone I was the only thing standing between them. Scheiße, aber das war sehr nicht gut! I rubbed my eyes and tried to calm down.

Would he attack a helpless boy in a coma? I didn't know. Every other time he had gone for Nagi, the boy had been rendered helpless the way a bird becomes hypnotized and stands waiting for the strike of the serpent. I never understood the origin of his fascination with this one child; Far never attacked other kids, always targeting those old enough to be accountable. But, accountable by whose standards? The law? The church? Which church?

My head hurt. I sat down next to Nagi and took one cool hand in mine. "Chibi, you'd better wake up soon. The wolf is hungry, and you're starting to look like dinner." Lamb, Far called him. Lamb of God? As in, Son of God reborn, or sacrifice to an older, vengeful deity? To Farfarello, there wasn't always a distinction between the two.

Like an animal trying to escape an inward pain, I bolted up and nabbed my gun, making sure the thing was clean and loaded. I had always been meticulous with my guns, the way Far was with his knives, and I was prepared to use my weapon should he come at Nagi with his.

Still physically restless and mentally agitated, I paced around the room, then sat once more at Nagi's side. "Kiddo, I hope you can hear me. Because I'm telling you to wake the fuck up before Farfarello gets any ideas on you! Brad isn't here, it's just you and me and the psycho, and Farf isn't in the best of shape. You didn't die in the water, you didn't die on the beach, so why won't you fucking wake up?" I had the momentary irrational urge to slap him across the face, make him react to me. I choked it down; I don't hit kids, and it wasn't like he'd only fainted, anyway. He would wake up when he woke up, and not a second earlier no matter what I did or didn't do.

My hand itched. I looked at the stitches, no sign of infection but damn! I would carry fine white scars around my hand for the rest of my life, the mark of the White Hunters embedded in my flesh. The stitches weren't the dissolving kind; they'd have to come out. Nagi was our usual medic, but he wouldn't be taking care of this for me. I could ask one of the women, but I was still too pissed over Brad's leaving to even bother.

I got up, stuffed the pistol in my waistband, and went in search of something sharp. Part of my mind knew I was not acting rationally at the moment, but the rest of my mind didn't give a good goddamn. I was obsessing as neatly as Farfarello, and I was going to take these damn stitches out myself if I had to cut off my hand to do it! The itching had proven to be the absolute last straw, and it was either take the stitches out or go stark raving mad, and Farfarello really didn't need the competition.

In Brad's shaving kit, a tiny box of razor blades invited me to take a look at their neat, shiny edges. He always used an old-fashioned razor, the kind with the screw-on safety face and the removable standard blades. I think it helped him stay grounded in the present, to have his daily shaving ritual to attend to. I opened the little box and reached for a blade, my hand starting to shake visibly.

Razor blades and I had a history together. Most telepaths would say the same: the drive for silence often led to disastrous solutions, and sometimes only the deepest silence would suffice. But today I only wanted to remove my stitches, and couldn't manage to choose anything more logical as a tool, like scissors. The lure of the blade shone as brightly as an addict's fix, and I took one from the box.

Holding the blade in my left hand, I raised my right and searched for the knot. Finding it, I put my mouth to it and grabbed the thread with my teeth. Tugging it hurt, made my hand throb, but the pain served to clarify my thoughts against the backdrop of the world, and I tugged a little more. When I had gotten the end free of the skin, I held the knot in my teeth and slid the razor blade between my hand and my lips, reveling in the cool threat of the steel. I felt the suture give, and moved my head back with a triumphant grin.

One by one I picked out the stitches, pulling and cutting when I had to. It took several minutes, and by the end of the process I was drenched with foul-smelling sweat and I felt vaguely nauseous. But at least the moments had been truly mine. I felt certain that no one else in the world, or at least within a few hundred kilometers, had felt the urge to remove stitches with their teeth and a razor blade just now, so the impulse and action had really been all my own doing.

Sometimes I just felt the need to test myself, to know if my thoughts and desires were really mine or simply a reflection of the world. Sometimes, I could even feel like a real human being, isolated and alone in my own head. Solipsism, Far called it. Sometimes I liked the way it felt, and could believe that nothing existed at all but my own mind.

Distant throbbing from my hand brought my attention back. I looked at the irritated skin, dotted and red where I'd pulled the sutures out with no regard for comfort. Damn, I was going to regret that. Already did, in fact.

I rummaged around for a bit of stiff paper, folded it into a little envelope and put the blade inside, then stashed it in with my tapes. The action was so automatic I didn't even think about it; one never knew when such things would come in handy, after all.

I had to ask the matron for some rubbing alcohol; it wasn't in our bathroom. We had our own supply, but I didn't want to get into it unless there was no other option. As I scrubbed at my offended flesh, I regarded the matrix of scars critically. It lacked the artistry of Farfarello's self-inflicted marks, yet had a certain poetic savagery nonetheless. I started pouring a steady stream of alcohol over my right hand, momentarily amazed that my left hand wasn't shaking. The alcohol burned like acid. I smiled, a dark and feral smile. The kitten who had marked me with his wire – would I ever get to return the favor? Mark him in some way?

Intriguing man, Balinese. Temptation made flesh. In combat, we had danced around each other, neither truly wishing the other dead. Were it not for our jobs, we may have had some interesting times together. I smiled at myself. What trouble I could have gotten into! Thank gods I didn't have that distraction here; I would hate to have to choose between him and Crawford, between lust and the team. In my current aggravated state, I really didn't know who would win. Already, once before, it had been a close call.

A few days before the ritual, I had gone off in search of recreation and booze, and had wandered into an odd little bar I hadn't tried before. I hadn't decided whether I was more interested in sex, alcohol, or violence, but in a place like that it didn't much matter. I would find something to distract me from the intolerable waiting, the maddening stress that was the hand of Esset.

At the bar I had spied a familiar figure, overly tall among a nation of the petite, with wavy gaijin hair and small-lensed tinted glasses worn purely for effect. ::It's him,:: I remember thinking. ::That guy...::

As though sensing my presence, his back had stiffened and he had turned very slightly, picking me out of the crowd with ease. His eyes had narrowed menacingly; his thoughts were loud. ::You! Schwarz!::

I had sauntered toward him, mentally commanding the guy next to him to leave his seat and find another place to be. Balinese had watched my approach and fingered his watch as if to remind me that we were, in fact, enemies.

"Pax, kitten," I had told him, mixing Latin and English just for the fun of it. "I just want a drink."

He'd nodded as though granting permission, and I'd helped myself to the vacant seat to his left. "Chivas, neat, and a refill for my friend."

"I'm not your friend. Why are you here, Schwarz?" Jade eyes watched my every move.

"Like I said, I'm here for a cheap drink, Weiß. Just like you." I'd pulled out a cigarette and lit up, then offered him my lighter for his own. He'd ignored it, instead lighting his next from the butt of his last. All I could think then was how slender and graceful his hands were.

I sighed, shaking off the memory. Yes, Kudou's hands were graceful and long, not at all like Crawford's. It really hadn't surprised me much to find out that Brad had lived on a farm; he had large, strong hands, the kind that can wrestle a bull to the dirt and crush a half-full beer can.

My hands, though, were sore and the right one in particular was throbbing violently. My head hurt and my eyes were watering. The room stank of rubbing alcohol; the bottle was half empty. I cursed and rinsed my hand under cold water until it started to go numb.

If I couldn't get my head working right, things would only go downhill faster from here, I told myself. These flights of fancy were well and good, in a secure setting. Now, with the threat of a wounded Esset on our heels and our team in tatters, I was quickly becoming the weakest link. I couldn't concentrate on one subject for more than a few minutes, I couldn't remember dates or numbers, and I couldn't even complete one task without wandering off onto some other tangent. Again I had left Nagi alone, and there was no reason to believe that Farfarello wouldn't return early and take advantage of the situation, were he so inclined.

Damn it!

I grabbed a towel and bolted back to our room.

A/N:

_i hurt myself today, to see if i still feel _

_i focus on the pain, the only thing that's real_

Now _Further Down the Spiral_, with NIN's "hurt (quiet)", we see the frantic desperation of an out-of-control telepath trying to hang onto something real. He should be grateful he isn't in Tokyo proper; consider the population density... If things don't improve for him soon, he'll be in a world of hurt the moment he gets around a large crowd.

Translation notes –

_Scheiße, aber das war sehr nicht gut!_ Shit, but that was very not-good! Schu's own flair for words, in his observation that Farfarello's biblical obsessions with Nagi were – and are – a very real and serious threat.


	14. 14

**14**

_is it any wonder that my mind's on fire...   
it's a flaming wonder telepath_

Two days. Two days of no Crawford, of no waking Nagi, of very little sleep and a lot of worry. I lit another cigarette, crumpled the empty pack and dropped it in the trash.

I sat heavily on the little chair and sprawled across the table, reaching for paper and pen. At least my hand didn't hurt so much now, though my handwriting didn't show much improvement for it. Left hand tangled in my hair, I scribbled out a short list of supplies. I added cigarettes and a scarf to the list. I'd had to leave my favorite yellow one behind. Too noticeable. I needed something, though; my signature mane was pissing me off, but I wasn't about to cut it.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I leaned back and regarded the ceiling. Farfarello was out walking yet again. He preferred it to sitting here and waiting, I supposed. In any case, he hadn't attacked anyone since we got here, so either they hadn't gotten his attention or Crawford had given him strict orders on the matter. He hadn't seized, either, for which I was both grateful and extremely anxious. It seemed too easy, considering his head wound; I kept waiting for something to give, and chain smoking while I waited.

I took my list and went looking for one of the women of the house. Though they didn't see me as much of a man, they were unfailingly polite, and quite willing to run a shopping errand for me. They made sure Farfarello and I had enough food, and even helped me bathe Nagi. The older woman was pretty good with a sponge bath, so I welcomed her assistance with my unconscious teammate. She never asked, just tended to his immediate needs.

"He is warmer today," she had observed this morning, laying a wrinkled hand on his cheek. Warmer today, like a weather forecast. I wondered if the evening would be fair to partly comatose; manic giggles had chased her from the room.

I had managed to apologize to her later. She no doubt thought I was on drugs or something, but accepted my apology and told me that she thought the child was only waiting to wake up. I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but took it as the comfort she had intended.

Now I found the youngest, a girl of about fifteen, and offered her the list. She wrinkled her nose at my cigarette, but took the note with a bow and went off in search of her aunt. I sighed and leaned against the doorframe. This waiting was really getting to me. Thank the gods that there were only a handful of people here, though; any more and I'd be a real mental case.

Oh, nice timing – on the heels of that thought, Farfarello turned the corner toward me, two steaming bowls in his hands. "Lunch?"

I snorted a short laugh at myself and tossed the cigarette butt out the window as we passed it. "What do we get today?" I asked, honestly curious and looking forward to the meal. The women here were not only pleasant to us, they were damn good cooks as well, and I knew it wouldn't last too much longer. I'd better enjoy the high life while I could.

"Noodles with duck," he replied, just as pleased as I was. "I didn't think we'd get our own personal cooks again after the Takatori business. It's a nice perk."

"That it is, my friend. That it is." I took one of the bowls and parked myself on a chair.

"Any change in the boy?"

Far asked me that several times a day now, and I never had a new answer for him. "No, not that I can tell, anyway."

"Why don't you go looking for him?"

I glanced up from my bowl. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Dead serious." He fixed me with an expectant stare. "You're a telepath, why don't you just go in and wake him from the inside?"

I put down my chopsticks and sighed. "I can't, that's why. It's not common for a telepath to be able to go into unconscious people, Far. Not safely, anyway. It's disorienting, and there's the chance that the telepath will get lost in the dreamer's world. If that happens, the telepath could go insane, or have a stroke or a heart attack from the strain of it. I wish I could, but I don't have that gift."

His stare didn't waver. "But you come into my head. How is that any different? You've said I'm always dreaming."

"I meant that in a poetic sense, my friend. Your logic is different from most. Compared to the rest of the world, you live in a series of dream images that regular people wouldn't understand. But you're physically aware, you're conscious, even if the wiring is a little unorthodox. It's not the same. My blood pressure doesn't react when I read you; with a sleeper, it would."

"Oh. I see." He returned his attention to his noodles.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Fatigue had robbed me of my sharpness, and all I could do was watch, unsleeping, as the sunlight changed its slant in the garden and birds came and went about their business. Farfarello came and went with them, reminding me from time to time to eat something or have some tea, or to check Nagi's condition. The matron returned from shopping with my nicotine and a ridiculously gaudy silk scarf, which I had received with a smile and a bow and an inward wince.

I wished Brad would hurry the fuck up and get back here.

"He'll come back for us," Far said through a fresh cloud of cigarette smoke. He regarded me through my blue-grey curtain, refusing to allow me to isolate myself.

I looked out the window. Sunset hovered just above the horizon, the light shifting color until it reminded me of my own hair, still unrestrained, the brand new scarf tossed aimlessly on my pillows. Sunset fire hair. "Godawful red," Brad called it. A wistful smile tugged the corner of my mouth. I pushed it back with the cigarette.

"I know he will. The question is, when?"

Farfarello didn't say anything, and I couldn't feel him looking at me anymore. I turned sharply to verify that he hadn't, in fact, just vanished or something.

He sat where he had been, opposite me at the little table, and his gaze was still directed at me. A thin line of spittle drooled from his lower lip, and his eyebrows were drawn together in a sad, bemused expression. His one eye focused on me for a moment as though asking a question, then his entire body went slack and slid to the floor.

I bolted around the table as Farfarello went into a full grand mal seizure. I was screaming and cursing as I searched frantically for something to cram between his teeth so he wouldn't bite his tongue off.

My hand landed on one of his sheathed knives. I slid the weapon from the heavy leather case and turned to run the three steps back to Farfarello's side. In my panic I tripped and fell hard, landing on my knees. I slid the remaining few feet. Cradling his head between my knees, I gripped the knife sheath with both hands, forced his mouth open and his tongue flat, and let the leather withstand the force of his jaws so my hands wouldn't have to.

There was no clock in the room. I don't know how long he lay there, body thrashing at the mercy of some broken internal wiring. My thoughts were spinning around me, dizzying and frightening. I didn't want to think about him dying, not Far, and especially not now. Had I forgotten his medicine? No, I'd prepared the syringes dare I say religiously, allowing him to inject himself on schedule under my watchful eye. He'd said he liked watching the liquid flow into his body, and I hated injections, so I gladly let him do it himself. What had gone wrong today? I couldn't think of a damn thing.

The Irishman's powerful muscles finally relaxed and he lay like a rag doll, half in my lap. Tears flowed down my face, exhausted, terrified tears, frustrated and burning hot. A pale, strong hand slowly rose to touch the wetness on my cheek. "Did I die?"

Sobs and mad laughter mixed into a hellish sound that I couldn't stop. "No, you stupid bastard, you still didn't die! Does this look like heaven or even hell to you?"

"It wouldn't be heaven," he murmured, voice sluggish but clear. "And I wouldn't expect hell to look so simple, even with a red-haired devil to greet me at the door. So I guess you're right. I'm not dead today. But I am on the floor. What happened to me?"

"You had a seizure, Far. Bad one. How do you feel?"

"Sort of like after E.S.T., actually. Calm. I feel calm. And a little thirsty."

I shook my head. The man sounded like he was fondly reminiscing over his electro-shock therapy days. I ran a shaky hand through my hair, then wiped my arm across my eyes and face. Enough with the tears, I thought. "Want a beer?" I joked, half-heartedly.

"Water, actually, if you don't mind." Far slid his hand up the side of his face and pushed the eyepatch off. Like me, his face was wet, though his was from sweat rather than tears. "And a washrag."

He sat up, pulling his legs into a half-lotus position and stretched his back, raising his hands high and pushing them behind him. I swore I could hear his shoulders pop out of joint, then back in. "Attractive, Farf," I mumbled, trying to get my legs to work after their recent abuse.

"I'll teach you sometime," he said with a grin.

I really couldn't tell if he was joking.

A mug of water, a wet washcloth, a change of clothes and a pot of tea later, Farfarello was curled up on his futon, sleeping like an innocent while I limped to the bathroom to tend my injured knees. They were both scuffed to bleeding from my jeans, and I had to pull cotton lint out of the left one. I cursed my own stupidity. Why had I panicked so? Farfarello was damn near indestructible. But he was my friend, my teammate, and at the moment the only living companion I had to talk to. He understood me in ways the other two never would. He knew the telepath's hell, for it was much like his own. Only a few other people had understood my daily struggle, and I had left them behind in the bowels of Rosenkreuz.

God damn it. My knees were already dark with bruising, and it hurt to walk. I'd mend; I had to, after all. But I wasn't looking forward to the time in between.

I sat there by the tub, in my underwear, smearing salve onto my torn knees and occasionally crying. I knew I was being stupid, feeling sorry for myself, but I couldn't seem to stop. As it had become too fond of doing lately, the past rose up and pulled me under. I thought about friends I hadn't seen in five years now, wondered if they were alive or dead. I suspected the latter. They were gentle souls, and Rosenkreuz ate gentle souls for lunch.

I closed my eyes, wishing for the first time since leaving that place to see Karl just once more, to feel his soothing touch on my shoulder, to hear the quiet laughter in his voice. _My sweet friend, where have you gone? You who could ease my fear, make me forget my pain, with a touch, a kiss, a smile._

I heard the door to our room open.

Unmindful of the pain from my knees, I sprinted out of the bathroom, my jeans still in my hands. I skidded to a halt at the door.

Brad stood beside his futon. He'd set two large suitcases on the floor by the door, and I glared down at them, his sudden reappearance robbing me of speech.

Brad looked up. He almost smiled. "Schuldig. I have some more things in the car. Give me a hand..." His voice trailed off as he surveyed my torn knees and general state of disarray. He frowned.

"Didn't See it, did you." I stated the accusation in a flat voice.

"What happened, Schuldig?" Brad came toward me, concern in his eyes. I could pick up from his surface thoughts that I looked like a rape victim.

Momentarily self-conscious, I pulled on my jeans. Then I gestured toward the door. "I need to talk with you."

He allowed me to lead him outside, into the garden. I wished I'd grabbed a smoke. I took a deep breath of annoyingly fresh air and all my anger and frustration flowed up and out like lava. "Far had a seizure today," I said; my voice came out high-pitched and prissy.

Brad frowned again. "No, I didn't See that happening. Is he all right?"

"You saw for yourself, he's sleeping like a baby now. Had all the benefits of electroshock, he told me, but without the smell of burning hair. I needed you today, Brad! Where were you? I've never had to deal with this shit before! I didn't know what to do! I thought he was going to die."

"I'm sorry, Schuldig," he said, honestly concerned. "But I had to do this. And I had to do it now. Everything that will happen in our favor over the next several months hinges on it. You just have to trust --"

"Yeah, trust you, trust you! You didn't even See this, Brad!"

"How is Nagi?" Brad tried to gain control of the discussion.

I wasn't about to let him. "What, don't you already know, oh Seer?"

"Schuldig, you know it doesn't work like that. I don't know everything, and I never claimed to. Now will you stop the histrionics and report on the team, or do I have to get drastic?"

"Nagi is fine, oh Leader. He's sleeping about as well as Farfarello. As for me, I'm going fucking insane! You left me, Brad. You left me with two people who need more care than I can give them, and you left me without any goddamn shields!"

"You're in the mountains, there aren't more than a dozen humans within a hundred miles," Brad said with infuriating calm. "You'll mend. That much I _have_ Seen."

"Just as soon as I'm done feeding Nagi through a fucking tube in his arm and keeping Farf from biting his own damn tongue off, I'll work on it!" I spat, unable to stop the momentum of my rage. It felt good to have a target, even if that target was as dangerous a one as Crawford.

"I got you all those tapes, why didn't you find something to concentrate on?"

"You took the car, and the car has the tape player," I snarled, disgusted. "Your bad."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Schuldig, what about your disc player? I know you have that."

"Batteries, Bradley!"

Crawford looked up, his glasses flashing. He didn't give me the expected I'm-your-leader-don't-call-me-that look. Something other than ego and pride burned in his expression. His eyes had gone forbiddingly cold, and I backed away a step. "No one," he stated in a near whisper, "calls me 'Bradley,' Schuldig. No one." Not waiting for an answer or apology, he shifted his gaze out of the arctic range, adjusted his glasses, and asked, "Why didn't you send one of the ladies here to buy you some?"

"Forgot," I mumbled, chagrined but not yet ready to give up the fight. I had too much adrenaline invested already. "I'm not perfect, all right? I don't remember shit! It's not like I have a fucking supercomputer in my head! No, that would be the kid lying in there!" I pointed through the window at Nagi.

Crawford sighed, not defeated but weary. "Schuldig, I have more work to do. I'm only staying the night. Will you calm down and tell me what happened to your legs, or would you rather stand here in pain and keep fighting? Because I can promise you, you won't win. Your choice, but make it quick. I am damn tired, and I want some sleep in a somewhat familiar bed."

"I fell," I whispered. "Trying to get something for Farf to bite on. I fell, on my knees. He seized bad, Brad. Worst one since the beach. And before you ask, no, I didn't forget a dose."

I hoped he would become tender, kind, that he would hold me and tell me things would be all right. But no, this was Brad Crawford, not Karl, not Sergei, not a man to be gentle with a combative bitch like me. "Increase it. Give him an extra dose tomorrow. We can go up to two more, we'll start with one. I'll make arrangements for another doctor in about a week. That's when we'll be leaving. I suggest you have your shields in order by then. Right now, bring the other bags in from the car." With that, Brad strode past me and back into our room.

A/N:

_is it any wonder that my mind's on fire…   
it's a flaming wonder telepath_

"Flaming Telepaths," Blue Öyster Cult _Secret Treaties_. This is one of those songs that seem tailor-made for Schuldig. Here he knows he's coming unraveled, and can only laugh about it. He can't even get two consecutive lines of the lyrics, instead hopping from one segment of the song to another. He's in the throes of powerful mood swings, he's dealing with difficult and frightening episodes with Farfarello, and he's nearly at the end of his rope.

Oh, if you caught the "Saiyuki" reference in this chapter, give yourself 10 points! 

Now for the reviews  :

Thanks to everyone who's as caught up in this story as I am! I'd reply to comments faster, but I've got a weird work schedule (have to pay the electric bill and eat, you know!).  My work schedule is not only good for paying the bills, but I have at least 6 days off at a time to write (which amounts to a lot of story for you!  ).

To Yanagi-sen through chapter 11 – I'm so glad you're still reading!     Hate to tell you, though, Schu is not getting off the rollercoaster any time soon. Mwahahaha!

Milwa – CONGRATULATIONS! I was wondering who would catch that.       Yes, Schu lost a degree of ten in his math (how many seconds in an hour – he puzzled it out as 360, when it's really ten times that). He's having trouble telling time…doing simple multiplication…is this a symptom of some kind of telepathic meltdown? Stay tuned…

Lestat197 and Kit3 – fret not, more is on the way.

May – and Farfarello SHOULD make you nervous…

And one more for Yanagi-sen and Lestat197 for chapter 13 – hold on to your butts, the ride's just getting started.


	15. 15

**15**

_i am the voice inside your head and i control you_

"Go through everything here, sort out what we take and what we leave. If it fits in these suitcases, it goes with us. Understood?" Brad gestured at the pile of things I had salvaged from our old apartment, and the four new suitcases standing along the wall. "There are new clothes for each of us, and other things we'll be needing. Everything in the suitcases stays in the suitcases. Anything else you can get to fit, you keep."

I nodded, nursing a cigarette and a headache.

"And get some goddamn batteries for your disc player, Schuldig. I don't want to come back and find you still wrecked out. You have four days to pull yourself together."

I saluted with my cigarette.

Brad scowled, and was gone.

Resting my head against the wall, I let out a slow breath and counted to ten. In Japanese. Tried to, anyway; I got stuck at hachi. Pushing off the wall, I stalked over to the pile of stuff and kicked one of the suitcases.

At least Far seemed okay today, I thought. Brad had driven back down the mountain after assuring me he'd be back in four days. Four more days. Shit.

I wandered back to our sleeping room and checked Nagi for the fifth time that morning. Unconscious, unresponsive, but almost the right temperature. I would get the matron to help me bathe him again that day, see if the warmth was maybe helping him. It was a thin hope, but a hope I was determined to cling to.

Farfarello was sitting outside in the garden, watching a mantis. Praying mantis, preying mantis – like Far, there wasn't much distinction. His God came in bloodshed, and angels sang with the voices of the dying.

I sat on the little chair and watched him through the window, just as he watched the slender murderous insect on its branch. My gun pressed against the small of my back. Brad had been right, back at that beach hut; Farf's injury had rendered him more unpredictable than usual, and that was saying something. It wasn't a good change.

I've never been good at waiting. Waiting for Brad to come back to his team, waiting for Nagi to wake the hell up, waiting for THEM to find us, all of it weighed on my mind and kept me too distracted to work on my shields.

I crushed out my cigarette and rested my head on the table. My logic was just as bent as Far's was unfailingly, unflinchingly solid. The things I waited for had no bearing on my healing; I knew I'd have to work on my shields, or I would not be any use to my team.

I got up and went in search of the matron of the house.

We got Nagi clean and dressed in boxers and a t-shirt that Brad had just purchased for him. Smart man, picking clothes that were easy for a third party to dress the boy in. As I smoothed the t-shirt down in back, my fingers brushed across the scar there. That scar was the reason for the gun in my waistband, the reason I hadn't slept well without Brad here.

The old woman left to make us some lunch, and I hooked the IV tube back to the little plastic thing sticking out of Nagi's arm. I didn't even know what the damn thing was called, I only knew that this was the only thing I could do for him, so I did it.

"Ah, kid," I murmured, ruffling his hair. It was getting a little nappy. Since it was hard to dry with him unconscious, I didn't wash it as often as I washed the rest of him; I didn't want him catching chill. "I'll get the hair next time. Promise."

Not having anything better to do, I sat there and talked to him, wondering if he could even hear me. "Farf had a seizure yesterday, but he's okay now. Brad went and bought us a bunch of crap. He left again, but he promised he'd be back soon. I'm chain-smoking and my shields are shit, but what else is new, right?" My voice trailed off. I kept thinking about that damn scar, and the man who had given it to him. I reached back and touched the butt of my gun, just to make sure it was still there.

_Far, too Far, what is your fascination with this kid?_ I thought. From the start, he would watch Nagi the way a cat watches a bird: intent, focused, silent. Sometimes he'd follow the chibi, just follow him, watching every move.

Back when we worked for Takatori, it had turned from odd obsession to something darker. It was Easter. We knew Far could get violent around the major Christian holidays, but he'd seemed calm this time.

We should have known better. A snake is calm right before it strikes.

Farfarello had stalked right up to Nagi in the hallway of our apartment and grabbed him. Brad and I were in the office; Far was silent, and Nagi could make no sound. His power shut down, his mind shut down, and he just stood there, staring up at the knife blade held over him.

Brad had gotten a brief, urgent vision and dashed out of the office; I had followed, unable to pick up anything from his thoughts.

Farfarello had been holding Nagi close to him, the hand wielding the knife behind the boy, and he had murmured something about "now God will know you." There had been blood on the wall, and I could feel Nagi slide into unconsciousness.

Brad had pulled Farfarello away and punched him, stunning him enough that I could get Nagi into the nearest room, which happened to be the bathroom. I could sense Brad pulling the ever-present tranquilizer syringe from his pocket and dumping its payload into Farf's veins. Then he had knocked on the door, asking what Nagi's condition was.

Farfarello had carved a cross on Nagi's back, just above the tailbone. It was roughly the size of a child's hand, and bleeding freely. It wasn't deep, but it would scar. In my arms, Nagi had roused slowly as though waking from a nightmare. "It's okay, kiddo," I had lied to him, "he's tranked now. It won't happen again, I promise."

"I promise," I now whispered, fingering my gun. Far's words from the car came back to me – _"And it worked, didn't it...God knew him, and kept him alive. He doesn't want a boy this powerful in his heaven, so he kept him here, with us."_

Fuck, where the hell was Brad? If something like that happened again, I wasn't sure I could stop it in time.

Then again, I reminded myself, Far had never spoken an intention to kill the boy, only to mark him. Make him known to God, he'd said. This didn't make me feel any better, or safer. Only seeing Nagi awake and able to defend himself would do that.

I frowned. Actually, there was no reason for me to believe that Nagi _could_ defend himself against Farfarello at all. Every time the Irishman came stalking at him, the kid shut down. He couldn't yell for help, he couldn't run, he couldn't even use his powers. He would shut down, like a bird waiting for the inevitable.

"Well, daydreaming and memories won't get us any better off, right, kid?" I muttered, patting his arm and rising painfully to my feet. Damn, but my knees hurt! "I'll make a deal with you. I'll get better if you wake up. Deal? Of course it's a deal. I'll even start first, in good faith." I went back to the other room and rummaged for my disc player and music. Dark stuff, mostly: industrial and goth. But that could be a good thing. I needed something that would insinuate itself into my mind and help me keep everything else out.

I scribbled down another short shopping list, including batteries and some elastic hair ties this time. The scarf they'd picked out for me was lovely, but not quite "me" – teal to match my eyes, the matron had said, but frankly the flowering tree motif just didn't work. Not today, anyway. I wanted something a little simple at the moment, but plain rubber bands hurt too damn much.

On sudden inspiration I added chocolate and cola to the list. Couldn't hurt to indulge a little. I handed the list to the matron and returned to our sleeping room.

Headphones on, disc selected, and I lay down on the futon and let the music pull me in. I'd used this method as a kid, before the "talent scouts" of Rosenkreuz had arranged for my higher education. Repetitive music with a strong beat, played over and over at moderate to high volume, and my mind wove a barrier around itself that was fairly easy to maintain. Not the accepted method at Rosenkreuz, of course: too easy, and too pleasant. I wasn't even sure it would still work.

But Crawford had suggested it, so I could only presume he knew it would work. I got up and moved over to sit by the outer door, the one Farfarello would return through when done with his walk. That way I wouldn't have to keep such an alert mind on the room, and could concentrate more on myself. I swore that I would do this, I would repair my own mind so I could help my teammates through whatever was in store. Crawford had dropped hints that it would be bad. I wasn't going to let them down.

I wasn't going to let _him_ down.

A/N:

_i am the voice inside your head and i control you_

"mr. self destruct" from NIN's _The Downward Spiral_. Schu is trying to revive his own inner voice, to regain control of his own head. He is determined now, and this marks the beginning of an upturn in his quest for self-healing. Still, it's a little ominous that "mr. self destruct" could be seen as an improvement, ne?

For those who noticed, yes, counting to ten in Japanese is something I do to my story people when they're a little out of control. (See "To Those About to Die" for another example of GuiltyRed's Anger Management Technique.)

Translation notes –

_hachi_ – eight


	16. 16

**16**

_(sound...of a heartbeat)_

Farfarello sat outside in the rain. His mantis friend was long gone to dryer places, leaving the Irishman alone with his thoughts.

I reached out to his mind, testing myself. Three days of almost solid work had given me a hell of a headache, but last night's sleep and a couple of aspirins had put it back down. Now I was ready to see if it had done any good at all.

The trick would be touching his mind without his noticing me, and getting back out without either of us getting a headache or a nosebleed. Not that Farfarello would care about either, but the headache would make his vision blurry enough to notice. I'd ask him later, if I had any doubt as to the results of my practice.

His outer mind was like a still pool today, calm, reflective. Occasional ripples hinted at dark forms within the depths, things that could rise up and transform the pool to a vortex of violent intensity. I had to be careful here.

There, his internal monologue, a constant stream of thoughts that carried his personality and most basic beliefs, the things that got him through his day. In most people, this would be a cheerfully disjointed thing, a babbling brook full of random chatter and phone numbers and shopping lists and the like. But the mind of Farfarello was far more organized than most, and his inner voice droned on like a preacher, or an attorney.

His current attitude was one of waiting: he considered Brad's absence a means of telling time, and when Brad returned he would take that as a sign that the next phase would begin. What exactly he expected that to involve I could not decipher without digging deeper, and I wasn't ready to try that yet.

From within his mind, I turned my attention back to myself and listened for other intruding voices. None. That was good. While I was outside my own shields and browsing through Farfarello's head, I wasn't picking up any other thoughts. True, there weren't that many people here; the crush of the big city would be a different test altogether. But if I couldn't handle this, I wouldn't have a prayer there; I had to try this to know.

At the edge of my thoughts, Farfarello became aware of the intrusion. He'd caught my comments to myself, I could tell: his mind had pounced on the word "prayer" like a cat on a mouse, and now he searched for the source of it. Crap.

::Just me, Far. Making sure I can still do this.::

::Ah, I see. Incurring any roaming charges?:: His mental tone was laughing.

::Don't think so. Any effects on your end?:: I raised a hand to my face to feel under my nose, but no blood. A good sign; a nosebleed on a sending telepath usually indicated extreme brain damage or total lack of functional shielding, so its absence gave me a good measure of comfort.

::None. Want to try more?:: He relaxed against my mind, allowing me to do as I wished.

::Nah, I'm done in. Hoped you wouldn't notice me at all, actually. Kind of disappointed that you did.::

::Oh, but I'd always notice you, Fire-hair. You're kind of unmistakable. But do as you will. I'm enjoying the rain today. And you don't have to watch the door. I'm staying here until dinnertime.:: His thoughts held no anger at my vigilance, only a calm recognition of it.

::Thanks, Far. I'll leave you be, then.:: I disengaged. The headache pulsed back into life, but dimmer than it had been. I shook out two more aspirin and took them with a swig of soda. Damn, but I was glad I'd asked for the cola! It speeded the aspirin up a little, and tasted mighty good too.

I felt my confidence and mood swell to near-normal heights. This little practice with Farfarello had gone perfectly, until he noticed me, anyway. And to be honest, it was damn near impossible to sneak into his head without him noticing, so any moments I had were good ones.

Something in the room caught my attention, but I couldn't place what it was. Then it came again: a soft rustling sound from the direction of Nagi's futon. I hurried to his side.

The boy's eyes moved beneath the closed lids like a sleeper in dreamstate. His left hand, the side hooked up to the bag, twitched a little on the covers.

I held my breath and took hold of his hand. "Come on, chibi, wake up. Wake up, baby!" I murmured, trying to remember to breathe around the words. My heart pounded dizzyingly in my chest.

His hand twitched again, then turned a little as though recognizing the touch of my hand upon it. Eyelids fluttered over eyes too deep-set, sunken within his childlike face and delicately bruised. Lips stuck together through disuse pulled slowly apart as his jaw worked and his tongue tried to shape meaningful sounds through the soft whimpers coming from his throat.

"Shh, I'm here, Nagi, I'm here," I whispered, a fresh wave of tears coming to my eyes. I squeezed his hand a little.

Tiny muscles in his dark, papery eyelids worked to unstick eyes glued shut with unnatural sleep. His long lashes parted, a millimeter, two. He blinked slowly at the dim light.

"Doko...?" Nagi's breathy voice faded after the one word, though his lips moved to complete the question. His eyes slowly focused on my face.

"Long story, sweetie," I said, unable to keep the smile from my face. "Someplace safe."

He tried to turn his head but the effort was too much. Instead, he moved his left arm a little, bringing the line into view. "Nani?"

I concentrated on his mind for a moment, despite my own headache. His understanding of language was scrambled, but he seemed to be firing on all pins otherwise. He winced a little, and I realized he had felt me. "Sorry, kiddo."

Nagi looked at me, his face blank but his eyes showing pain. "Gaijin," he whispered, and I felt a little chill run down my spine. Didn't he know who I was? But then he murmured, "Shudrich," and the chill dissipated a little. His language center had apparently slid backward a few years; he was having trouble with the European pronunciations again. Was that normal? Then again, who could say? We didn't even really know what had happened to him, though my theory that he'd suffered a stroke seemed borne out with his speech difficulties and trouble with movement.

"Hai, Schuldig desu," I told him, again squeezing his hand gently.

He winced again and whispered, "Baka gaijin, Shudrich." His parched lips almost smiled.

"Yeah, so my accent is atrocious. What else is new?" I said with a grin. "Crawford is away on business, but he'll be back soon. Farfarello --" I paused. I almost said "Farfarello is in the garden," but that would have a quasi-biblical or funereal sound to it. "Farf's here too," I finished lamely.

Nagi blinked again, trying to focus. His hand tightened on mine, and I realized he was trying to pull himself up. I slid my arm under his shoulders and helped him sit. He didn't have the strength to hold himself there, so I sat behind him and let him rest against me. When he'd caught his breath from this exertion, I propped him against the wall and went to our little stash of food for a bottle of water. I had to hold it for him, and he coughed some of it back out, but he drank quite a bit.

Soft questions in Japanese fell from his lips, and I answered as simply as I could. Ten days, or close to it. For now; I'll take the needle out later. I know it hurts.

He dozed, and I monitored his breathing, afraid he'd slip away from me after that brief reassuring moment of life. Above us, the storm increased its intensity, lashing rain and wind against the rooftop with the rhythm of waves.

Farfarello came in and toweled off by the door. He changed into dry clothes, then seemed to notice me sitting with Nagi in my arms.

"Schuldig?"

"He's going to be all right, Far," I murmured, understanding his question without needing to read his thoughts. "He woke up for a little while. Now he's just sleeping."

Far came over and knelt beside us, gazing at Nagi the way a kind child would gaze at a lost puppy. He reached out one rain-cool hand and casually felt Nagi's throat for a pulse. "It's stronger," he stated; I had no idea when he might have checked before to have such a comparison. With a slight frown, he regarded the IV line and asked me, "Does he still need that, then?"

"I'm not about to fuck with it, Far. I don't like needles."

"They don't bother me. I can take it out, if you want."

The thought of Farfarello touching Nagi in such an intimate way bothered me. He would be close to a major vein, and have access to a big and sharp needle. Then I reminded myself that never had the madman even hinted at wanting Nagi's death. In fact, he'd said he would die to protect the boy. I sighed. "Honestly, I don't know what to do. I'm afraid to take it out, in case he goes under again and needs it. But...I think it's hurting him, having that thing in his arm."

Far placed his fingertips under my chin and tilted my head back so I had to look at him instead of at Nagi. "Schu, does he want it out? Would you, if you were him?"

I nodded, too weary, too relieved, just wanting this all to be over.

Far leaned in and kissed me, his full lips soft upon my own. His mouth tasted like jasmine. He moved so his lips caressed my ear. "Trust me?"

Again I could only nod.

He got up and went to our supplies, digging out a bottle of alcohol, some gauze, and the bandages. Moving with calm determination, he knelt in front of Nagi. With firm, skilled hands, he doused a wad of gauze, then swabbed off Nagi's arm around the needle. The flesh was deeply bruised from forearm to bicep, displaying an array of sickly color from green to purple-black.

"If this bothers you, don't watch," Farfarello told me as he gripped Nagi's arm at the elbow with his left hand. The boy was small anyway, but with his sleep-induced weight loss Farfarello's hand engulfed his arm easily, pressing just above the needle point. With the side of his right hand, Far pressed down just below the needle; using his thumb and forefinger, he gently slid the steel lifeline from Nagi's tortured vein.

Blood spurted, but Far clamped down on it with his hands and a wad of bandages. He neatly folded Nagi's arm at the elbow and lifted it high, slowing the blood flow to that limb with practiced ease. His lips moved as he counted the seconds.

After about a minute, he cautiously checked his handiwork. Blood trickled, but that was all. He pressed the wadding into place and instructed me to hold the arm up again. Far unwound a strip of surgical tape, tearing it free with his teeth, then taped the wadding into place. The tape pulled at Nagi's delicate skin; I knew it would leave marks, if not glue blisters, but it couldn't be helped.

"Thanks, Far."

"Anytime."

Farfarello went into the bathroom, and I could hear him washing. I sighed and leaned heavily against the wall, Nagi cradled against my chest. He would be all right, I told myself. Now everything would be all right.

A/N:

_(sound…of a heartbeat)_

This chapter has an instrumental piece as its defining sound: "at the heart of it all" by NIN, _Further Down the Spiral_. Repetitive, almost contemplative melody cradles the sound of a heartbeat, serving as a powerful focus for Schuldig as he watches his teammates from a somewhat different perspective than before. Near the end of the track one hears what might be rockets or fireworks; I find this evocative of rocketships and Nagi's love of the stars; I suspect Schuldig might find it so as well.

Translation notes –

_doko_ – where

_nani_ – what

_gaijin_ – foreigner

_"Hai, Schuldig desu"_ – "Yes, I am Schuldig."

_baka gaijin_ – stupid foreigner

Review Mail Bag Responses:

**_Lestat_** – thanks for the cookie! Here's another chapter!

**_May_** – though each of them works as a stand-alone piece, this story will intertwine with "To Those About to Die", and I hope you enjoy that one too. I'm trying to pace things so certain spoilers in one don't upset the flow of the other, so please bear with me on that. Also, when I get to the Weiß side of the story, it will mesh with both of these. Further updates as events warrant. –

**_Yanagi-sen_** – oh, keep reading! His life is going to get much more complicated before I'm through with him. Mwa-ha-ha-ha!

**_Arileo_** – keep looking, there are more Saiyuki nods coming. You're right about how similar Farf and Hakkai are, but dig deeper: there are similarities all over the place…

**_Milwa_** – thank you for reading. Schuldig is one of my favorites to try to write from the inside. Imagine what life would be like if you weren't even sure who you were half the time. People think that it would be cool to read minds, but what if you couldn't ever turn it off 100? (Don't worry, this story isn't just about making Schu miserable. It'll all come together eventually.)

_**Kit3**_ – I am honored. And the chapters will, overall, be getting longer for a while. I'm trying to match the pacing and chapter length to Schuldig's mental condition: the more scattered he is, the choppier the story, so as he mends, the chapters will get smoother and longer.


	17. 17

**17**

_run, rabbit run, dig that hole, forget the sun_

_and when at last the work is done, don't sit down, it's time to dig another one_

"How is he?" Crawford asked as he brought several large shopping bags in from the car. The man looked exhausted: his eyes were deeply shadowed, and he frowned as though the morning light bothered him.

But I didn't mistake the look of relief that relaxed his features for that one beautiful moment, when I told him Nagi was awake. I smiled back at him. "Well, he's weak, of course. Needs help to pee, has to be spoon-fed, things like that. We got the line out of his arm and he's taking liquids readily enough."

"But?" Brad clearly had Seen something; he looked at me as though daring me to lie.

"He...he's lost a lot of his English, Brad. And his own language is damn hard for him. I can't look too deep in his head because he feels it, as quickly as Farf does, but with Nagi it hurts him. I'm a little scared, actually." Damn, I wished I hadn't had to lose the good mood so early. Now I'd be wanting cigarettes all damn day.

"There are more cigarettes for you in that bag, Schuldig. And by the way, you're projecting again."

Fuck. "God damn it, Brad! I worked on that," I whined. "I worked hard, dammit! Ah, hell."

Brad put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. "I understand. Your telepathy always acts up when you get emotional. I'm worried about him too. I've arranged for us to see another doctor, a better doctor. But we'll have to go to Tokyo."

I felt myself go pale. "Brad, no. No way! I am NOT going back there!" Reflexively I flinched out from under his hand as though afraid he might drag me to Tokyo by force.

"I thought you said you'd been working on your shields. What's the problem? Just because you're projecting right now doesn't mean you can't handle Tokyo." He regarded me with a sharp eye.

"Fuck you, Crawford," I mumbled, more panicked than I wanted him to see. Tokyo, damn near the highest population density in the whole damn world, and every living thing with an education and a high IQ. That's how it felt, anyway, millions of curious, active minds humming and buzzing like a beehive on cocaine. At my peak, I could barely keep them out and myself in. Right now I was definitely not at my peak.

"Schuldig, the team will go to Tokyo." Brad's tone would allow no argument. "There we will attend to some more business before leaving Japan for a little while. You will get your isolation soon, I promise you. Until then, I will arrange for the doctor to give you something that will help."

"What, Brad? Prozac?" I could feel myself revving up again, just like last time, and again I couldn't stop it. "You know damn well what does and doesn't work for me, and the things that work you don't approve of! Screw you!" By this time I was shaking, nearly shouting and on the verge of tears. Damn but I was crying a lot these days! "Fuck Tokyo, I'm already crazy."

This time he did gather me into his arms, pulling me against his chest and welcoming my mind into the shelter of his own. One strong hand stroked my hair. I couldn't hold onto the fear and anger with him so strong around me; they melted away, ghosts in sunlight.

"Schu, I need you sane. Nagi needs you sane. I will take care of my team, and that includes you. You and your godawful red hair." He smiled against my cheek.

"Brad, I," I started to say, but he hushed me and changed the subject, moving away to unpack the shopping bags.

"We have a little more packing room available. Make good use of these," he said, handing me two student-type backpacks. "Oh, and I got you this."

I took the disc from him and looked at the case. The Crüxshadows. I raised an eyebrow at the name. Interesting, considering how many crosses had figured into our lives of late. "The Mystery of the Whisper" – also interesting, especially to a telepath. Every mind whispers its hidden truth behind what it puts on for show. I surveyed the artwork, curious now. On the front, one of those Egyptian symbols so popular with the vampire crowd, some other symbol on fire, and a very gothic foursome; on the back, the punk-haired goth boy, and the girl looking like some kind of pagan priestess. The song titles intrigued me, too. The ones that weren't from Egyptian mythology were evocative in their own right.

Distant memories fluttered around my head like trapped sparrows; when had I learned about Egyptian mythology? I vaguely remembered big books with big letters, a wide field and scuffed knees, and sunshine; then the headache came, the way it always came when I tried to remember a time before Rosenkreuz, a time when I was innocent.

"Schu, are you all right?"

Crawford looked concerned. I smiled through unexpected tears. "Fine. I'm fine. Just a little headache."

"I think you'll like that disc," he told me. "I did a little research. Seems they're all the rage in Europe, and I know how you like fashionable music."

"Thanks, Brad," I said, honestly meaning it.

He left me in our makeshift storage room to finish repacking. I could hear him talking softly with Nagi in the room next door. I was glad he'd come back so soon after Nagi's waking; my Japanese had never been as fluent as Brad's, and I really didn't dare leave that to Farfarello. We needed to know how bad Nagi's condition was, and frankly, Brad was best suited of us to find out.

I had already dealt with the suitcases from his first trip out, and the rest of the stuff I'd brought from our apartment. These shopping bags wouldn't be too bad, especially with the extra backpacks. I rearranged a few things, made sure my disc player and supplies were handy in one of the packs, and called it good.

As I headed back to our sleeping room, Crawford came out, supporting Nagi on his way to the toilet. I hurried over to help.

"Done already? What, did you chuck everything out the window?" Brad asked.

Nagi made some comment in Japanese. I caught the word "baka", one of his favorites when referring to me. I smiled a little.

"Gaki's feisty today," I observed, mangling the word for brat as usual. "Yes, I'm done. I was done until you brought the new shit, and that didn't take long. The backpacks were a good idea."

"Of course they're a good idea," Brad stated, as though surprised I'd even bothered to say so.

Nagi had always been a very private soul, and having two of his teammates practically carry him to the toilet did not make him happy. He told us to back off, and held onto the doorframe for a few moments before sagging back onto Crawford's arm. From his mind I picked up the language-proof sentiment, ::I hate this.::

"I know, chibi," I said as I slid his boxers down and helped him sit on the toilet. Thank God they had the sit-down kind! This kid was too weak to stand to piss, much less to squat. Brad and I stepped away to give him a little privacy. When Nagi was done, we helped him back up and got his modesty restored, then started back to the bedroom. His legs gave out, and he nearly slid through our grasp. He didn't weigh anything, I thought as I lifted him in my arms and carried him the rest of the way. Brad looked grateful; I figured he was too damn tired to do this, so I smiled and sent, ::I've got him, Brad. Why don't you find us all some food? You're taking a nap after we get this kid fed.::

For a moment I thought he'd argue, just on principle. After all, he was Brad Crawford, the man in charge, the one who gave the orders, not took them. But this morning he merely nodded. "Good idea. He needs more liquids." He patted Nagi on the shoulder and went in search of the matron of the house.

Over an early lunch Brad explained what the next few days would hold for us. Farfarello listened intently. Nagi half dozed. I paced, my knees still damn sore from that spill I took. They never warn the people taking care of epileptics that the seizures might be more dangerous for them, especially if they're going too fast on a nice wood floor. So I paced, and grumbled to myself.

At least I wasn't chain smoking.

"We're going to Tokyo, then to an outlying district. In Tokyo proper we will receive immediate medical care. That means you, Farfarello, and you, Nagi. It's already arranged." Brad looked at me and asked, ::Do you need medical, Schuldig?:: I told him no. Anything the guy could prescribe wouldn't help me. If necessary, I'd find my own way.

He went on. "We have a window that will last approximately two to three months, during which time the forces of Esset will still be recovering and unable to engage. We will use that time to finish any business that cannot be left undone before leaving Japan. I haven't decided yet where we will go after that. I am using several sources of information in my planning, and things have to be a little flexible right now." He looked like this fact displeased him.

"In other words," Farfarello said in a low, thoughtful voice, "we're going to loiter about the scene of the crime, knowing full well that they won't bother to look there first. Gamble, or do you know, Crawford? The boy is in no condition for a fight."

"I know, Farf. Something happened when the Elders died," Brad said in a near whisper. Somehow we could never manage to talk about Them without dropping our voices, and it relieved me to find that Brad was still not immune to the effect. "I've Seen that there has been a terrible amount of bloodshed over this, and it's not over. They are turning on themselves, casting out the weak and impure, so to speak. Their numbers are dwindling, but those that remain will be the strongest and the most determined to live."

I had to ask. "Any hope that they'll kill themselves off and not bother looking for us?"

Brad didn't dignify my question with a look, but merely stated, "None. They'll come, Schuldig. I've Seen that too."

"Have you seen when?" Far asked.

Brad shook his head. "That's the problem. I know we have this window, but beyond that it's patchy. The only certainty is, we are not safe, gentlemen. We will be hunted."

I sighed. "When do we leave, then?" I was resigned to my fate. I would return to Tokyo with my team and try not to go crazy.

"Morning after next. Until then, enjoy the hospitality."

I yawned, surprised at how such a simple thing could be so draining. Brad stripped to his underclothes and dropped to his futon like an exhausted animal; he was out cold within seconds. Nagi was already asleep, and I couldn't fight my own fatigue any longer. Only Farfarello seemed fresh and alert: he'd slept great ever since that last seizure. Must have done him some good, I wisecracked to myself.

I stripped off my clothes and stretched. It felt good to revert to my preferred sleep state, which is to say nude. I reveled in my own body, though it occurred to me that the assortment of scratches, bruises, bumps, and scabs did not make for an attractive sight by any means. I frowned a little, but enjoyed my stretch anyway. With a yawn I crawled under the covers next to Brad.

"What are you doing, Schuldig?"

Well, I'd thought he was asleep. "Uh, taking a nap, Brad. I'm beat, what with waiting up for you and all."

"I thought you were going to watch over Nagi."

"I've been watching him for days, Brad," I muttered, not wanting an argument from this man. "Farf's awake, he'll keep watch."

Brad snorted. "Fine, it's his turn, then. Why are you in my bed?"

That hurt. More than I was about to let him know. I didn't trust my voice, so I just lay there and blinked, trying to figure out what to do next.

"All right, you can stay," Crawford acquiesced. "But don't get too used to it, Schuldig."

"Never mind," I whispered, "I'm not tired anymore."

Brad heaved a sigh and half turned to look at me before I could get away. "Schu," he said, "remember what I said about treating this too casually? Need I remind you, this is not a bed-and-breakfast inn." Switching to mental speech, he said, ::Sleep is one thing. Utter distraction we cannot afford. And --:: He broke off the thought, but before his shields could push me out, I had picked up enough.

Brad Crawford found me utterly distracting.

Now if I could just get him to relax and enjoy it.

A/N:

_run, rabbit run, dig that hole, forget the sun _

_and when at last the work is done, don't sit down, it's time to dig another one_

"Breath," from Pink Floyd's _Dark Side of the Moon_. Of course Brad is taking control of things, it's in his nature to do so. But he's never had this much pressure before, juggling his team's health, sanity, and safety with so much at stake. He's already exhausted, and the expected chase hasn't even begun. And he won't even bend enough to accept the comfort Schuldig is offering him; no, that would make him seem soft, admitting he needs comfort at all. Brad Crawford may be a swaggering, overbearing, tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood, but he's not soft. (A gentle nod to James Doohan – fellow Trekkers and Trekkies, you know what happened next.)

Translation notes –

_gaki_ – brat, just like Schu claims it means.

And from what I hear, there are two kinds of toilets in Japan: the Western kind (sitters) and holes in the ground (squatters). God bless Google. –


	18. 18

**18**

_Cruelty and consequence - cannot eliminate this relevance_

_Your selfishness, your hatefulness cannot take away my immanence_

Tokyo.

Traffic, neon, skyscrapers.

People.

The drive here had been uneventful, even though Brad was acting like someone out of a spy thriller. He'd been driving with one eye on the road and the other on the rear view mirror, his knuckles white on the wheel. He wouldn't tell me if he'd Seen anything, just that time was of the essence.

As we passed into the heart of the city, my headache thumped back into life. It was early evening, and people were still out and about in droves. Their mental voices murmured and hissed in my head like static, the language still so foreign that only the strongest images and intentions came through clearly. The strongest, and usually the least pleasant.

I'd ridden with my eyes shut, headphones on tight and the volume cranked. This goth stuff wasn't too bad; it was fairly repetitive in rhythm, and I hoped it would graft itself onto my consciousness to the point it became part of my shielding. At least it was pleasant to listen to, whether it proved useful or not. Since I wasn't watching the scenery, I didn't get to see the outside of the building we stopped at; once we had parked all I saw was the dimly lit inside of a small parking garage.

That was nearly a week ago. None of us had seen the garage, much less the car or the greater world beyond, since then. Except Crawford.

I paced around the apartment, my bare feet making little noise against the soft carpeting. Through the efficient courtesy of the yakuza, we were living in this small apartment almost in the middle of the city. The apartment itself was passable, though the carpet was a sickly wasabi color. Maybe that was how we got to stay here: they couldn't rent it out with that nasty carpet. But it was soft enough. Still, the location could have been better. For the past five days, from all around, I could feel the constant press of foreign minds against shields that were still disastrously thin. I couldn't concentrate: I could barely rub two thoughts together without losing track of them.

To make things worse, Brad wouldn't let me smoke inside, banishing me to the narrow balcony only when no one was outside to notice. And that was damn rare. He said that the place was too small to deal with the smoke, and Nagi was still too weak to be "subjected to your second-hand smoke," as Brad so gracefully put it.

True, the place was small. Brad and I had separate bedrooms, though: no shacking up for him. We'd converted the walk-in closet into a chibi-sized bedroom for Nagi, and Farf got the couch. At the moment, I could hear Farf in the bathtub, and I sensed Nagi sleeping in his cozy little bed.

I found myself staring out the window and reminiscing about our first apartment in Japan, back when Takatori called the shots and the living was generous. Truth be told, I didn't miss much from those days, but I did miss my slippers. We had each been given appropriate Japanese house shoes, and Brad insisted that we adhere to the local customs in that regard. But I had taken a fundamental dislike to mine, more out of spite at the whole culture than anything about the shoes themselves. Okay, so they didn't fit right. My feet are long and slender, not easy to accommodate in Japanese fashion. With Brad's grudging approval I had imported two sets of Russian men's ballet slippers, one crimson and gold and the other royal blue and silver. Silk brocade, and the most comfortable things I'd ever worn.

I'd left them behind, with my yellow scarf and favorite sunglasses and ninety percent of my music collection.

Now here I was, back where it all started. Nagi could barely walk without help, though he was managing mugs and spoons fairly well. He still had trouble with speech, the English words coming back slowly if at all. The doctor confirmed that it looked like a stroke. There wasn't anything we could do other than the rehabilitation we had already started, getting him moving on his own and talking more. The doctor was a bit puzzled, as the kid didn't have any risk factors; not that we could tell him about the psychokinesis, of course.

Basically, my little teammate had blown a fuse. We could only guess the extent of the damage. I hadn't seen him use his gift since the tower; I wondered if he would ever be able to again. I tried not to think about what would happen if he needed it and found it broken.

Farfarello was another story. But that's kind of typical for him. It's scary when the only word that fits is "miracle," especially when talking about our resident deity hater. Still, the doctor ran the tests and looked at the pictures from the CAT scans and that other thing – the MRI – and had no reason to think he was looking at images of living tissue.

Far was alive because he still had work to do. There was no other explanation.

I hadn't bothered to ask the doctor if he could help me. Not much a normal-folk medic could do about a broken telepath. It seemed as though the few days I had fought to regain some measure of control had been in vain. The moment I was within range of a crowd bigger than a hundred, the pressure had started to mount and my shields had collapsed like a house of cards. I didn't know how to tell Brad, so I hadn't bothered.

Somewhere nearby, a man was beating his girlfriend, a mother chastised her child, and twenty thousand people got ready for an early dinner.

Behind me, I heard someone enter the room, and I could tell by the feel of his mind that it was Crawford. Without turning I said, "I want to go out tonight."

"No, Schuldig. You are not to leave the apartment at this time."

Incredulous, I spun to glare at him. He was picking up the magazines I'd left strewn on the coffee table and not even looking at me. "What, so now I'm grounded?"

Brad heaved a sigh of long suffering and infinite patience, which I knew to be bullshit, and said, "This would not be a good time. You need to be here. Nagi is still mending, and I can't totally rely upon Farf."

"When, then?" I demanded. "You can't keep me penned up in here, I'll go crazy! You know that, you bastard! This is torture." I tapped the side of my head hard enough to sting and said, "The whole fucking city is in here with me! If I don't surround myself with real, physical, warm-bodied people, their thoughts will drag me under and I won't be any damn use to you at all!"

"I won't have you going off and getting smashed tonight, Schuldig. I know what you want to do, and I won't allow it. You would be putting us all at risk of discovery, and I swear to any god you name, I will shoot you myself before allowing that to happen. Do you understand me?" He stared hard, trying to make me back down.

I swallowed, and without deciding to I dropped my gaze. Damn him. "Crawford, it's really bad for me here. I understand that we had to do a lot of things to get the Elders, but staying here now is killing me."

"You won't die from this, Schuldig. I'll let you know when it's safe for you to go play, fair enough? But no drugs, and you'll take it easy on the booze." His eyes had gone a little softer than they had been, but there was no ignoring the determination in his stance. He would rein me in, or I would buckle under the pull of his will.

"You know, you could make this a little easier for me," I murmured, changing tactics. "You could distract me a little." I didn't really think he would, but I was now in the mood to fight dirty.

"This is not the time, Schu." Brad spared me a disapproving look before going back to neatening the damn room.

"Why not? Why isn't it the right time, Brad?" I stalked over to him and stared right into his face. "I don't know if you remember, but we did share something intimate and powerful only a couple weeks ago. Since then, you've been playing hot and cold with me. It's never been the right time to talk it through, and it's been tearing me up. I thought you were my anchor. I thought we had something." Cold chills ran through me as I realized that I was basically daring him to either accept me as a lover or ditch me right there. One does not idly dare Brad Crawford. I had the sick feeling this would not come out in my favor, but bigmouth had struck again and my words hung in the air like ice crystals.

"We did, Schuldig. We did share something. In fact, we have shared many things over the years." He set down the stack of magazines and other clutter and regarded me coolly over the top of his glasses. "But you will have to get it through your thick skull that the sun does not rise and set at your whim, and people will not always give you what you want. Sometimes, what you want is not what you need, and may actually be bad for you. Have you ever stopped to think about that?"

I was thoroughly baffled now. He hadn't done either of the things I'd expected. And he was making sense. "But, you wouldn't be bad for me, Brad," I whispered, not sure just what he'd meant by that. "We want each other, why can't you just admit that? We're not Esset anymore, we don't belong to them, we can be free to love each other, can't we?"

"Not today, we can't. As far as being free, are you so certain that we are, in fact, free, Schuldig? Look at us. Two of us are grievously injured, your telepathy is barely under control and I've been having visions damn near non-stop ever since you left me in that beach hut with no goddamn watch!" Brad caught himself before tipping over into a full-blown rant, the first display of honest emotion I'd seen from him in several days, and only one of a dozen or so times in total. He took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up. "Schuldig, what I'm trying to tell you is, we're still Schwarz. Whatever else may come, the team must survive. And right now we don't have the time for personal affairs, of any sort."

I sighed. I couldn't argue with him. Oh, I wanted to, but I knew I'd lose. "Brad, I still love you. You know that, right?"

Brad took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing a little. "I know what you said, Schuldig."

I moved to cross the space between us, reaching out to touch, to offer comfort.

Brad pulled back. "No, Schuldig."

Anger flared in me, spurred on by the asshole somewhere within a city block who wasn't content with beating his girlfriend, she was on the floor and he was kicking her and insulting her and getting harder than he'd been in months with her or with his best friend, a guy who couldn't bowl worth a damn and owed him money for drinks but wouldn't pay up because his own wife was pregnant again. Anger, amplified by a hundred thousand cracked mirrors, took hold of my own frustration and fear and yanked my soul to its scabby knees. Fury raped out my consciousness like it had so many times before, when Far went too far and killed and killed and killed, or back in Rosenkreuz when –

"Fuck you!" I screamed at him. "You're what's making me crazy, Brad! First you act like you want me, then you can't get away fast enough. You're stringing me along, you know I love you and you're using that to keep me in line! I don't appreciate you pulling this crap! I don't know what kind of man you were before, but Rosenkreuz sure trained you well. You --"

He slapped me, hard enough to snap my head to the side. I never saw it coming. In a low, controlled voice he said, "I have never called leader privilege, Schuldig. I never would. That is not why I had sex with you, or why I occasionally slip and let you get the impression that there will be more. Frankly, I am offended that you could even go there." Brad's expression changed from furious to bitter as he straightened his glasses with a shove. "If we were free to pursue things at our leisure, I assure you, you would not be disappointed. But in case you have forgotten, we do not have that luxury. I would prefer to see you pissed and alive rather than satisfied and dead."

I stood there, hand on my still-stinging cheek. "I want to go out," I growled, feeling more trapped than ever. I felt humiliated, used, and horribly, horribly bereft. "I can't stay here right now."

Brad looked momentarily hurt. Then he swallowed and nodded. "You do what you need to do. I would rather you did not, but I know I can't stop you. Just don't go yet. Tonight is not a safe night, as things stand right now. Will you trust me as your leader and as Oracle, if nothing else?"

Part of my mind screamed at me to apologize to him, to break down and cry, to do anything a little bit human rather than stand there with stoic disregard for my own, and his, feelings. But, even if it was a lie for Brad Crawford, for me it was truth: Rosenkreuz had trained me well. I was not a man so much as a weapon, and weapons aren't supposed to feel. A little part of my mind was weeping, pleading, wanting to reach out. The trained part held it at gunpoint.

I nodded stiffly. "May I go to my room now?" I asked, voice harsh.

Brad looked as though he, too, had a little part of his mind begging him to let it go. All he said was, "Dismissed."

I stopped by the kitchen on my way to my room. If I couldn't leave the apartment, I would lock myself away and not deal with his attitude. Never mind that logic and training told me that I had just gone through a textbook telepathic psychotic episode. Never mind that I knew Brad recognized the symptoms, too, and was humoring me just like he was supposed to at times like that. No, fuck logic and fuck training.

"And fuck you too!" I shrieked, hands gripping the sides of my head, letting the plastic jar of mustard bounce off the linoleum floor at its leisure. I focused on the offensive little turd with the battered girlfriend who even now was apologizing to him and offering to fix his favorite dinner. I didn't know who the hell he was, I didn't give a damn. I sent all the anger and pain and violence spilling back into his head. The last thing I got from him was his girlfriend's shriek as the phone slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

When I came to, I was lying on my bed with a cool cloth across my forehead. For one blissful moment I thought it was a few days before the Esset ritual; psi strain took me down, I knew that's what it was, god only knows I had enough stress to bring this on.

But Brad, not Nagi, sat at my bedside, his old pair of eyeglasses on the table, and his hair about two weeks overdue for a trim.

The last three weeks filled themselves in like rainwater filling a shallow puddle: a little here, a little there, then it all blurred together into mud.

"Here, drink this," Brad told me, offering me a warm mug.

I could smell the rich, dark-roasted coffee, and my mouth watered. As much as I wanted the taste of it, I knew my body was fiercely craving the caffeine. I took the mug with shaking hands.

"Care to tell me what happened?" he asked, his voice quiet.

I tried to remember, but my head started to hurt. "I'm not sure," I whispered, then sipped some more coffee. "What did I do?" Sudden panic hit me. "I didn't hurt the kid, did I?"

"No, you didn't hurt him. Or any of us, though I think I came close to being your target. Between your attitude and my temper, those episodes of yours can be a dangerous thing."

I couldn't tell if he was joking; with him, it could go either way. "I remember being mad, pissed as hell, actually. I don't think it was mine."

"Good. I'd hate to think it was." This time he smiled a little. "How's your head?"

"Hurts. Been worse. Been better, too." My memory puddle deepened; shame rose up and with it a wave of nausea. I fought both down. "God, Brad. What did I do?"

"Well, you didn't shoot anyone, and you didn't hurt yourself this time, backlash headache aside." He regarded me critically. "But I think you did attack a civilian, and it may have cost us some time. I've Seen that we'll have to move to another location sooner than I'd hoped, but other than the inconvenience it won't be a major problem."

I closed my eyes and held the mug out to him. He took it from me; I could hear him set it on the nightstand. "Great. Just great. Does it help if I say the little bastard deserved it?"

Brad snorted a laugh. "Not one bit. I swear, if you aren't the biggest piece of trouble I've ever met, I don't know who would take that honor." He shook his head, then brushed his hair back with one hand. "Schu, you have to get control of this thing. Telepathy is an integral part of who you are, don't let it destroy you. I know you got hurt at the tower, I know Rosenkreuz messed you up inside, but I also know you are stronger than they are, and you can get past this."

I reached for his hand, my eyes just barely open. The unique and soothing silence flooded me as my skin touched his. At least this still worked. Then suddenly I understood, and all emotion faded before the brilliance of the knowledge: if I thought he was using me, then I must be using him too. He gave me silence, a reprieve from the yammering voices that my shields were too flimsy to keep totally out. Bare skin contact strengthened that effect. No wonder all I could think of was getting this man naked – it wasn't just eroticism, it was self-preservation!

He gazed into my eyes as though reading my mind, though with his depth of understanding he would never really have to do that to know what I was thinking. Brad gave me a small smile and a nod. "You see? I don't trust our motives, Schu. There may be something real here, but this is a survival situation. Pardon my crudeness, but you would fuck anyone to stay alive, and we both know that." He leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. "The thing is, I won't let you."

A/N:

_Cruelty and consequence - cannot eliminate this relevance _

_Your selfishness, your hatefulness cannot take away my immanence_

This chapter's mood is courtesy of "Cruelty" from the album Crawford gave to Schuldig in Chapter 17: _The Mystery of the Whisper_ by The Crüxshadows. This album will become his favorite for a while, and the group will haunt his thoughts the more he listens to them. This is repetitive, thoughtful stuff, the kind of music that sticks in your head. For a telepath, this is a very good thing.

Notation note –

Since Schuldig will be obsessing on this album for a while, any song bits from it will be mentioned by name with the notation CXS _Mystery_, instead of repeating the group and album name each time. Any other source will be duly noted. And yes, "CXS" is intended as a pun. –

Review Mailbag:

First, let me say thank you to everyone reading this fic. It's truly a work of heart for me, and I'm glad you've come along for the ride.

_**Lestat**_ – (bows) Thank you, thank you!

_**Yanagi-sen**_ – there will be more on the Farf/Nagi dynamic in coming chapters. And, don't forget, Schuldig has a certain scorn for all aspects of the Japanese culture, including and perhaps especially the toilets (and squid…). –

**_Little-Wicked_** – welcome to the party! Stay tuned, there's much more to come!


	19. 19

**19**

_I'm not asking for favors not tonight_

I look up in the sky…all the rockets fall down, fall down 

True to his vision, Brad packed us up and moved us from the wasabi-carpeted place in Tokyo to this little out-of-the-way apartment within the yakuza network. The drive had been sheer hell: my backlash headache had lasted two solid days and lingered on like a bad hangover on the morning we had left Tokyo, rendering me cranky and vaguely nauseated for the entire trip. Nagi had watched me with concern, though whether he felt compassion or merely hoped I wouldn't puke on him none could say.

But now that we'd managed to stay almost two whole weeks in one place – and I had regular access to a real shower again – I decided that things weren't as bleak as I'd recently thought. If this is life in exile, it doesn't exactly suck, I told myself with a smile. True, it was a little hectic, going from apartment to apartment and staying pretty much invisible, but it wasn't all bad. This one was actually a step up from the others, and far enough from city center to give me a little reprieve. We had three real bedrooms; Farf still got the couch in the living room, but he didn't seem to mind. There was a balcony for me to smoke on. And we had satellite television.

I finished toweling off and tried to decide what to wear. Not that I'd be seen in public, of course. Brad still insisted that no one but himself leave the apartment until he gave the all clear. Still, I'd mostly been wearing ratty old jeans so far; a change was certainly in order. I rummaged through my suitcase and found my black leather pants and a violet silk shirt. I grinned. Maybe Farf would notice, even if Brad and the rest of Japan would not.

"Damn, I like the quiet here!" I said aloud just to hear my own voice. Here, I could keep out the multitudes with the aid of distance. The music was proving helpful, too, though it would work even better with a sturdy layer of shields to build upon. I hoped I'd be able to fix my shields before we had to move again, though that was something I didn't really want to think about today.

The silk shirt slithered over my skin with a whispered caress; I found myself getting caught up in the wickedly luscious feel of it. It had been too long since I'd reveled in my own senses, and that was one thing Brad could not control. I smirked to myself. This was going to be fun.

I took my time getting dressed. My skin tingled where the silk clung with weightless heat. I stood in the middle of my room and smoothed the leather over my calves, then up to cling to my thighs like a lover's hands. My eyes drifted shut as my own hands roamed over the tight leather and warm silk, then down to where I wore nothing at all. I stroked myself a little, then tugged the leather pants up over my ass, imagining I was performing for the whole world.

I danced to unheard music and ran my hands over my body, imagining now that they were someone else's hands, that I was in the middle of a grand seduction. When my fingers brushed against my erection again, the image that came to mind was not Brad: it was Yohji, Balinese, the sensual kitten with sleepy eyes. I gasped, startled at my own imagination, and took myself firmly in hand to stroke in earnest. I wondered what his touch would feel like, those strong, slender, calloused hands, reputed to be so good with women. I'd bet he could pin me to the wall with ease, touch me just so, teasing and knowing full well what I wanted. I remembered the scent of the man: his coat, his cologne, the metallic tang of the wire, the smell of sweat in his hair as he panted hard with exertion... With a gasp I came, spraying a merry mess on the hardwood floor.

I took my time coming back down from that high. Who would have thought that Balinese could have that effect on me? We'd never even exchanged more than a few words, though I had to admit I had wondered from time to time. I smiled and reached for the damp towel. I neatened myself up, then wiped up the floor and tossed the towel on the little pile of laundry in the corner. A few moments in front of the fan took care of the light sweat on my body; I buttoned the shirt and fastened my pants, fully pleased with myself.

From the doorway came the sound of a man clearing his throat.

I spun around, terrified that I hadn't sensed anyone approaching.

Brad regarded me with an unreadable expression. How long he'd been standing there I couldn't begin to guess. "Schuldig, we need to talk." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out into the living room.

I nodded, barely able to breathe. Had he watched the whole show? I liked to act like an exhibitionist, but the thought of Brad actually watching me without my knowledge unnerved me to the core.

He went over to the kitchen bar and picked up a piece of paper. "You are to avoid these locations until further notice." He handed me the note and watched as I read it.

Damn. All the good bars and clubs were on this list. "Wait a minute. Are you saying I can go out, as long as I don't go to any of these places?" My heart leapt with joy. If I had to be subjected to people in my head, I damn well wanted to surround myself with them in person: a bar full of predictably, mumbly drunk people was a far sight better than listening to disembodied, sober prattle for hours on end.

"Yes, that is true. First, there are a few things we need to discuss. Have a seat." He gestured toward a barstool.

I sat; he remained standing.

"Farfarello seems to be having some success with Nagi in the language area. I am encouraging this, but with caution. You know what can happen, and how fast it can go. But I haven't Seen anything drastic in the next two weeks in that regard, so I am prepared to give you a little time off for your own healing. So here are the rules: you will inform me when you intend to go out, if possible where you will be going, and when you expect to return. You will make yourself known to me when you do return, through our psi link. Know that I will be covering the door with at least one weapon when I hear footsteps approaching, so you'd better make sure I know it's you out there. Understood?"

I blinked. This was a little much, even for him. "Um, is all that really necessary, Brad? Wouldn't it work if I just phone you from the bar and tell you I'm on my way?"

"Under no circumstances are you to phone this apartment from any location!" Brad actually leaned in close to my face to drive home his point. "I trust only to a certain degree, and the possibility of someone overhearing the phone ringing here and connecting it with you is a chance I will not tolerate."

To me, this had ceased to be a rational discussion. Brad seemed to be raving like a paranoid man. But, I didn't need to use the phone to let him know anything, so I just nodded, humoring him as best I could.

"Schu, I am not crazy," Brad said, gazing into my eyes. "Trust me on that. But I have Seen enough hints that my concern is not totally over-the-top. There were Esset operatives besides ourselves stationed in Japan, you know that. And not all of them were of high enough rank to have been at that ritual. If they're looking for us, we dare not screw up."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it that you're not crazy," I murmured. "But, Brad? Are you sure this will happen? We both know that the Sight is not foolproof, and we know that sometimes it lies to you. Could we be hiding for nothing?"

Crawford shook his head. "Absolutely not. Remember, I said we'd have a two to three month window. We're midway into month number two. Just be careful. It's not just your life on the line anymore. If they get one of us, they get us all." He reached down and lifted my hand. I felt him press something against my palm. Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead, a gesture so tender it made my eyes mist over. "Go have a good time, wild one. But come back safely."

I watched him go into his room and shut the door. Only then did I look at my hand. He'd given me a wad of money, plenty for a night on the town and then some. I sighed and stuffed it into my pocket.

As I rose from my seat, I saw Nagi peeking around the edge of his doorframe at me. I shot him a smile that I thought of as winning but which he unfailingly would describe as hentai. "Hey, kiddo! How are you feeling?"

"I have to learn to talk and walk again. How do you think I'm feeling?" Nagi grumbled as he made his way to the bathroom, half clinging to the wall as he went.

As he had been doing ever since the kid had started moving on his own again, the Irishman followed like a shadow, ready to catch him if he fell. Farf stopped by the bathroom door and waited, patient as a loyal hound.

It was too early to go out just yet, so I returned to my room to work on my shields a little first. For some reason, Crawford's trust in me inspired me to try harder, to overcome my own demons for the gift of his approval. Weird how that worked, since I considered myself one of the most stubborn and selfish men on the planet. Somehow, Brad got to me, that's all. That, and it really was too early to go party; I may as well put the time to use.

I flopped down on my bed and rolled onto my back, feet on my pillow, and gazed up at the textured ceiling. Another nice thing about this apartment: it came with real beds, not those thin floormats, though Nagi had been a little disappointed. I closed my eyes and concentrated on finding my own center, the part of me that I would recognize as mine no matter the distortion around it. This was the part I had been trained to find, to hold to when all else spun away into chaos. Slowly, cautiously, I relaxed into that center, allowing my external senses to shut down as though I were fast asleep. With each breath, I imagined a fresh layer of armor around my soul: virtual Kevlar for the psyche.

Time passed. Slowly my awareness extended from inside my own mind to the world around me once more, my physical senses reawakening and sharpening as it did so. My eyes slitted open; early evening light filtered through my window, casting the ceiling into a bas relief of snowdrifts. I became aware of how much time had passed, and the fact that, though I had missed dinner, I wasn't hungry.

From the third bedroom I could hear Farfarello reading to Nagi again. He'd been reading to him since the apartment with the wasabi carpet. It was interesting, to say the least. He hadn't done that since the formation of the team; he really hadn't had the chance during the Takatori days, or after, when we reported directly to the Elders. I focused on keeping my shields steady while tuning in to the book of the day. I picked up a few words about chaos theory and tuned it right back out. I swear, if I didn't know the man was insane, I'd figure him for a goddamn genius. He used to read the weirdest shit to the kid, too: science, philosophy, history, you name it he'd read it. Well, it had helped the kid pick up English before, and Brad thought it might help him again, so I was willing to wait and see on that one.

I sighed, feeling the air flow through my throat and into my lungs, then back out in a slow and steady stream. My head felt clear for the first time in months, and my body felt pretty damn good too. Everything seemed to be in working order. I smiled and rolled off the bed. No lingering headache, no dizziness, even my knees seemed to have gotten with the program.

Then my stomach growled. Right, I had missed dinner. I left my room and went in search of food.

Brad was lounging on the couch, watching television with the sound down low. He glanced over at me as I made my way to the kitchen.

"There's takeout in the fridge," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic," I crowed, still enjoying the body-high I got whenever I did the deep psi work. "From where I'm standing, my shields are as good as new. Better, even! Those dogs at Rosenkreuz did a bang-up job of wrecking them, but I'm going to show them. By the time I'm done, I'll be as impervious as you, Mr. Crawford!"

He gave me an odd little smile, then asked, "Are you going out tonight?"

I paused, midway between the fridge and the microwave, second-round dinner in hand. My over-tuned hearing was still picking up Farfarello's melodious voice as he read aloud to our Prodigy. The Irishman's native accent had returned again with a vengeance; it sounded better, actually, than the bland non-accent we had all been trained to use in place of our own voices. Something about the evening brought up a powerful wave of homesickness, though I could no longer remember my own.

"Would I be screwed if I don't? Is this my only chance, or could I go another night?"

A more natural smile crossed the American's face, and he pushed his glasses back up a little. "No, it's not. I've Seen that you get to party at least one night while we're staying here, so pick your night well."

Strange, that I would choose a night in with the team over a night of wild debauchery. Still, we had all grown close over the years, and at the tower that bond was tested and found to be even stronger than before. I wanted to eavesdrop on Far, listen to his words as they found their way into Nagi's head. I wanted to see the look on the kid's face when those words began to make sense again, when the scattered pieces came together in a way he could understand. I wanted –

"Brad?"

"Schuldig."

I brought my plate over and sat on the edge of the couch, next to his sock-clad feet. He scowled a little, but, unlike all the times before when I had tried to eat somewhere other than the dining table or the kitchen, he didn't banish me with a glare. I took a bite of some glazed chicken and quickly breathed around it, fanning my mouth. Damn efficient microwave! Brad watched me with mild amusement.

I wished I'd brought something to drink, but I didn't want to relinquish my spot. I was afraid he'd make me eat in the kitchen if I got up. A silver can came into view, and I grabbed it, drinking the pale beer gratefully. Brad just smiled. "I knew you'd need that."

"Show off."

"What did you want to ask me?"

I thought I felt myself blush, though it was probably just the combination of scalding hot food and icy beer. "I think I'll stay home tonight," I murmured, unable to remember my question.

Brad chuckled, then leaned forward and relieved me of my plate and my beer. He set them on the low table, along with his eyeglasses. Without the familiar barrier between his eyes and the world, Brad Crawford looked even more handsome, a man of gentle strength and great wisdom. My breath caught in my throat.

He drew me to him and pressed his lips to mine, soothing my burned mouth with his own heat. I responded, my arms going around him and holding him like I'd never let him go. When he broke the kiss to catch his breath, I looked into his eyes and asked, "Does this mean we have the leisure to pursue things now? Because, you know, I'd really like to."

Brad nodded. In a breathless whisper he said, "I'll take whatever time we have."

Someone leaned on the back of the couch, making it creak.

Brad and I damn near jumped off the couch as we sprang apart and challenged the intruder bare-handed.

One golden eye regarded us with calm laughter. "You're in my bed."

Not knowing what else to do, I picked up my dinner and hurried into the kitchen. Anything to be away from Farfarello, and from Brad. I had never been shy before, but what I felt with Brad was something new, something sacred. With him, I became strangely, wonderfully, vulnerable. But right now, with the sudden interruption, I felt uncharacteristically embarrassed.

I could sense the silent presence that is Brad entering the kitchen behind me. I took a last swig of the beer and set the can in the fridge. It would probably be flat by morning, but I might come back for it later tonight.

The moment my hands were free, Brad came around in front of me and backed me up against the counter. We were just in the shadows where we couldn't be easily seen over the bar, and he obviously knew this. His hands gripped my ass and pulled me to him. The look in his eyes was pure dominance: he would claim what he wanted, and what he wanted was me. Then his mouth crushed against mine, exploring, tasting, devouring. His hips ground forward; the feel of his erection against my quickly reawakening cock brought a moan from deep inside my chest.

I was dimly aware that one of his hands was now groping about the cupboard overhead. Then there was the sound of the little door slapping shut, and a tin of something landing on the counter in a controlled fall. Before I could really miss it, his hand was back upon me, this time working at unfastening my pants.

Once he got them undone, he pushed them down only part-way before wrapping his hand around my cock and tugging deliciously. Together we breathed around our kisses as he stroked me into a frenzy, his palm occasionally rubbing across the head of my cock and making me shudder with pleasure. I wondered if he even knew how that felt for me; I'd always heard it was different if a man was circumcised, and now I was certain he had no idea how sensitive my own member was. But he must have some idea, because he started playing with my foreskin, tickling his fingers around tender flesh that spent most of its time safely hidden away.

I had no idea what his other hand was up to until he turned me around and leaned me over the counter. I saw the tin he'd pulled from the cupboard: vegetable shortening, the lid lying next to the open tin and a generous scoop of the white stuff missing. Then he was pushing into me, hard and slow, the grease making it easier for both of us. Brad Crawford is not a small man; he had to work it carefully back and forth a while until my body ceased resisting and let him slide in fully.

A hand still slippery with grease grabbed my cock and started stroking again, following the rhythm of his thrusting. I reached back and tried to pull him in deeper. His powerful legs and buttocks complied, forcing him into me until I felt the bristly hair at his crotch rubbing against my ass and his balls smacking into me with each thrust.

Low, animal moans escaped my throat. I had to stop grabbing at him and put my hands in front of me to brace against the counter. I could feel his body tensing, getting very close. This time, though, I did not find myself falling into his mind. Without eye contact, that depth of link wasn't happening. This time, I wouldn't hurt him! With a short cry, I let go and climaxed, feeling the hardness of him inside me, clenching around it, sending myself into another upward spiral of pleasure.

Brad locked his teeth on my shoulder, muffling any sound he might have made, and came with a series of short, hard thrusts.

As the moment faded and our bodies relaxed, I could hear him breathing through his nose; his lips were still clamped over my shoulder. I reached a hand back and tangled it in his hair. His hair was sweaty, and everything about him smelled of sex. I tossed my hair back at his face and gave a soundless laugh. For this one glorious moment, I was totally in love with life, and Brad Crawford was mine.

A/N:

_I'm not asking for favors not tonight_

_**I look up in the sky…all the rockets fall down, fall down**_

"Sympathy (For Tomorrow)", possibly the most singularly Brad & Schu song on the CXS _Mystery_ album. At least, it reminds me of them, and I'm the author here. But seriously, it's a good one.


	20. 20

**20**

_shhh…just close your eyes and go to sleep, there's nothing to be afraid of…_

Brad and I shared a wonderful two days, easy in each other's company at last. We kept our separate beds, as neither of us was really accustomed to sharing without necessity, but our waking hours resonated with warmth.

Nagi had been mending day by day, and was now able to walk unaided around the apartment, though it tired him out fairly quickly and he still spent a lot of time sleeping.

Farfarello was tolerating his new anti-seizure medication well enough. He complained it made him feel sluggish, but at least it seemed to be working. He still showed an unsettling degree of interest in Nagi, as he had ever since the tower; this didn't seem to worry Brad, so I left it alone. We had accumulated a fair number of books and magazines in English by then, and Farf would spend hours just reading out loud to the kid. I didn't pay much attention to the content, only caring that Nagi absorbed the words and became confident in his speech again.

Like a summer storm, it came quickly, too quickly for my mental barometer to pick it up until it was too late. We were all focused on our healing, which seemed to be going well. None of us noticed any warning signs until the morning that Brad Crawford snapped.

Farfarello, Nagi, and I watched as he hurried through our apartment, drawing the curtains shut and making sure that no light could leak out around them. We listened to his whispered injunctions against noise of any kind: no loud television, no loud talking, he even expected us to walk like the floor was made of glass.

And no one, not even himself, was to leave the apartment until further notice.

"Brad, what have you Seen?" I asked, voice low. He had acted on visions before, but never so dramatically. This was scaring the crap out of me.

He turned, eyes haunted. "Something. There's something coming, I don't know what it is, but it's bad. Very bad."

"Are they here?" My stomach tightened as I asked this; if they were, we were effectively trapped.

"Not here, but close. Very close."

Though his actions unnerved me, I nodded and promised to obey. I figured we'd lay low for a day or two and it would blow over. Already Farf and Nagi had withdrawn from the impromptu briefing in search of breakfast.

Four days later: it hadn't blown over. Brad had been pacing around the apartment, fretting and jumping at small sounds. He hadn't shaved. I wasn't certain he'd bathed, either. He looked like some mad prophet, striding with determination and mumbling secrets only he could know.

I was watching the man I loved fall into insanity, and there was nothing I could do for him.

Nagi wouldn't come into the room if Brad was already there. Likewise, Farfarello avoided our leader, preferring to read either to himself or, in very hushed tones, aloud to Nagi.

I felt I was losing my mind right along with Brad. It was horrible enough to watch him go through whatever this was, but I had to do it without the benefit of nicotine. He still wouldn't let me smoke indoors, and now the balcony was off-limits. My nerves were almost as frayed as his, and my temper had deteriorated to a dangerous level.

On the fifth evening of this imposed isolation, the storm broke.

Brad stood by the kitchen bar, chewing on the sides of his fingernails. His eyes were wild; I don't think he'd been sleeping. I reached out to touch his arm. He didn't even seem to notice.

"Brad. Hey, Brad," I murmured, trying to sound soothing. "Come on, let's sit down." I tried to steer him to the couch.

He resisted. "I'm fine, Schu."

"Brad, have you Seen anything new? Do you have any more information for us?" I tried to touch his mind as I asked this, in the hopes that his surface thoughts might give me a clue to his current state. But his shields were blank and impenetrable.

"No. Something is going on, but I still can't See it clearly enough."

"How long are you planning to keep us locked away in here? You haven't even taken care of yourself lately. What the hell _did_ you See, Brad?" My fear started changing into anger as it usually does; with it, my volume started to go up.

"Keep it down, you idiot," Brad snarled, glancing around nervously. "This is just until things change again. You know that's how it works."

"How long will you keep waiting?" I tried to keep my emotions in check, but it was damn hard. Being locked in an apartment with my teammates when none of us were quite right in the head was really taking its toll. I knew Far felt it. I'd even seen it echoed in Nagi's eyes.

"Schuldig, stop arguing with me." Brad started to walk away, toward his bedroom.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" I followed close behind him, then reached out and gripped his arm. "I'm worried about you, damn it! You're acting crazy!"

"Schuldig, keep it down!" He spun around and glared at me. Light reflected off his glasses, obscuring his eyes like lightning.

"Fuck no, I won't keep it down, Brad!" I shouted. "You've gone over the edge! This is craziness." I halted and took a deep breath. I tried to calm myself, tried to lower my voice when I spoke next. "Brad," I whispered, "maybe you need to see the doctor, get something for anxiety. Your visions aren't usually this vague, you know that, right? I think you're imagining this one. I don't think there's any immediate threat to us here except from a paranoid man with a gun and a murderous knife-wielding lunatic."

"Screw you, Schuldig. I am not crazy." Brad's voice was dangerously quiet. "I am your leader, you agreed to stay here, to stay with your team. Will you follow my orders or will you not?"

"What if one of us needed help, Brad?" I growled. "What if Farf has a seizure? What if Nagi needs a doctor? Are you ready to keep him locked in here without help?"

"Nagi has nothing to do with this. He will mend." Brad glared at me as though daring me to contradict him.

"How the hell do you know that? How do you know that Nagi won't need a god damned doctor? You've locked us into this apartment with no good explanation, other than you've Seen something that scared the hell out of you. Does that justify keeping Nagi locked up like a god damned terrier? As far as useful, Brad, you haven't Seen shit lately!" I was within punching distance, Brad was within grappling distance. We faced each other, neither of us moving.

A pale form ghosted into the space between us, facing Crawford. Farfarello braced his legs and held an open stance, then slowly turned his head and glared at me over his shoulder with that one bright eye. He was ready to fight both of us. "Leave the boy out of this."

Dimly, through my anger, I could hear Nagi shouting, "Itai! Urusai! _Urusai!_" I glanced toward his room. The boy stood in his doorway, hands pressed to his ears and tears gleaming on his face, his expression a rictus of migraine agony.

Brad turned without another word and strode to his room, shutting the door with quiet firmness.

Farfarello stared at me. "Whatever you're going to do," he hissed, "do it quietly."

I stepped past him and hurried into my own room. I couldn't deal with Nagi's headache, or with Farf's anger, or with Brad's madness. With shaking hands, I changed into my leather pants and silk shirt, pulled on my low boots, and collected my cash and my smokes. If I stayed in that apartment tonight, someone was going to die.

As I passed back through the living room, I heard muffled voices from Brad's room. Sounded like Farf was telling him about Nagi's headache, enlisting his help. Good. I hated the thought of leaving the kid, but I was not stable, and I would be more of a hindrance than a help at this time. I hoped he'd forgive me for running like this, but I had no other option.

My hand was on the doorknob when I heard Crawford say, "Let him go. It'll happen anyway." His words made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Rather than confront him again and demand an explanation, I opened the door and strode out of the apartment.

A/N:

_shhh…just close your eyes and go to sleep, there's nothing to be afraid of…_

"Insomnia (a Ghost Story)", CXS _Mystery_. Fear and strangeness, a haunted precog, paranoia…or Knowing?

Translation notes –

"Itai! Urusai! _Urusai!_" – "It hurts! Shut up! _Shut UP!_" Nagi is in the midst of a brutal headache, either caused by or aggravated by the buildup of tension within the team, and the loud arguing pushed him over the edge.

Responses to Reviews:

_May_ – thank you for your observations. Yes, they are dysfunctional enough to fill a textbook, but it's obvious (I hope!) how much they all care about each other.

_Lestat_ – for chapter 17: for chapter 19: Whooo! Brownies!

_Tysoyo Kalli_ – good to see another Schuldig fan in the ranks! –


	21. 21

**21**

_Shades of feelings my heart denies  
bathing in shadows hidden in the eyes of lies – my glowing future…_

I hadn't really paid attention when we were driving here, but now I realized I sort of recognized the area. It was a couple of hours away from our old apartment, at least the way I drive. Probably further than that if you obeyed the traffic laws.

The people on the streets ignored me. God, but it was easy turning their memories so they forgot me as soon as they saw me. The tall, red-haired foreigner dressed like a raver and smoking an imported cigarette passed by unseen, just as I planned it.

Across the street, I spied a small bar sign. It seemed oddly familiar. Narrow stairs led below street level, and I found myself crossing the street to check it out. Déjà vu followed me every step. But it wasn't the sort of place I'd normally frequent: there was no dance music pouring up the steps, no sense of party chemicals in the minds within, only man's oldest friends, alcohol and tobacco.

Inside the door I paused, suddenly paranoid and feeling very exposed. Damn Crawford! I reminded myself that there was no reason to believe he was on top of his visions at this time, no reason to think his extreme caution had been justified. No, I thought that the pursuit, should it ever come, would be brief and easy to avoid. Danger just didn't lurk around every corner: that was how normals might live, but not me. I was the devil himself, I recalled with a smirk, and so should have nothing to fear in the world of man.

On steadier legs I descended the last few steps into the club proper. This was a men-only kind of place, though not specifically queer. That's right, I had been here before! Followed a couple of businessmen in search of cheap liquor and solitude. This was a place people came to be forgotten, or invisible. Ironic that I would flee the isolation of the apartment only to hurry here, to be alone among many.

I surveyed the crowd. Older men, mostly, intent on their booze and their forgetting, or petty gambling. A few younger fellows slouched at the bar, leaning over their drinks with the intensity of the smashed. One of these looked up as though hearing his name called, and glanced around.

I gasped. _::It's him! It's that guy…::_

He looked right at me, and his surprise hit me like a bullet. _::You! You're…(a ghost?) alive!::_

I wove my way through the clutter of tables. On my way, I intercepted a waiter with a tray of drinks. I touched his mind, making him forget where he was going as I appropriated two of the glasses and strolled over to the bar. "Well, stranger," I murmured. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Likewise," he replied, looking at me as though I might vanish.

"Buy you a drink?" I asked, offering him a glass.

He gave me a quirky little smile. "What is it?"

"Something alcoholic, I suspect." I turned toward him, glass half raised in a toast. "Here's to breathing," I quipped, remembering the relief I had felt when seeing him alive on the beach.

He laughed, a soft, smoky sound, and said, "I'll drink to that." He touched his glass to mine, and we drank. Mine turned out to be something with whiskey; I still wasn't sure what I'd given him.

We sipped our drinks in friendly silence; he finished his first and lit up a cigarette, then gestured for the barman. I noticed that Kudou had quite a collection of empty glasses in front of him. I wondered how long he'd been sitting there, and what had brought him back here this night. Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to ask.

Kudou ordered scotch on the rocks, I ordered Chivas neat. He watched me take out my smokes and light one, following the movement of my hands.

"What should I call you?" he asked, regarding me mildly.

"Schuldig," I answered, a little uncomfortable that I had nothing better to offer him. It was my chosen name, true, but right now it seemed little better than a codename or cheap alias. Then it occurred to me that this man probably didn't speak German, so it really didn't matter.

"Kudou Yohji," he introduced himself. "But I think you knew that."

I smiled and bowed my head a little. "Pleasure to meet you outside of work, then, Yohji."

Sleepy jade eyes studied my face. "You have a nice smile."

"Flirt." I tossed back the Chivas with flair, knowing I looked good when I did that.

Yohji laughed and called for another round. "No, I mean it. You really have a nice smile. It's better than that nasty smirk you always used to wear. It suits you."

"Thanks," I murmured, a little self-conscious. I loved flirting, did it instinctively with every man I met, but I wasn't used to being the recipient of it.

"So, what brings you here, Schwarz?" he asked playfully, trying to sound menacing but having a little trouble with the German word. The alcohol slurred his speech, though not in a bad way; his soft Japanese accent made him sound like he was purring.

"Same thing that brought you here, Weiß," I bantered back, remembering our first brief meeting in that same bar. "Cheap drinks."

"Damn right!" he agreed and called for more, though my last was still untouched. Looking at me critically if a bit woozily, he asked, "You still in the same line of work?" As though realizing that I wouldn't answer unless he gave me a reason to, he gestured widely with his glass and offered, "Me, I'm retired. Nothing left to do." He started coughing, doubling over a little on the barstool and covering his mouth with his arm.

"You all right?" I asked, more concerned than I'd expected to be.

"Damn sea water," he grumbled. "Just got over a nasty infection from swallowing it. Shouldn't be drinking, actually, but I trust my own judgment more than doctors sometimes." Amazingly, he took a drag on his cigarette with no untoward effects. Then again, long-time smokers could do such things; I should know. "How about you? You guys okay?"

"Yeah," I answered without thinking. "We made it." I realized then that he didn't know I'd seen him that day, on the sand; he didn't know that I knew his team had survived. Somehow I didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him, either. Not right now. "And you?"

Yohji snorted bitterly. "We're alive. Not much more than that. Gone our own ways now. Everything is gone."

From his surface thoughts I could see that they had all survived, but he felt they were as thoroughly lost to him as if they had not. Anguish poured off this man over the breakup of his team, his family, the young men who had become his world. My heart ached for him. His left hand clenched into a fist on the bar. I placed my hand over his and looked into his eyes. They were misted with grief and anger, and drunkenness. I opened my mouth to speak, but there was nothing I could say.

"I really shouldn't tell you any more," he mumbled, starting to get up.

"It's all right," I said. "I probably shouldn't be talking to you at all."

He gave me a curious look. "See you around, then?"

I smiled and stood. "Of course you will. I like this place."

Yohji staggered a little; I steadied him, amazed at the weight of the man. He seemed so reedy, I hadn't expected him to be this solid.

With a sheepish smile he asked, "Did you drive?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "Sorry, I walked."

"Figures. I meet a hot redhead and he doesn't even have a car."

I helped him to the door, discovering in the process that my steps weren't that steady, either. The stairway to street level proved quite problematic. Hanging onto each other and the iron railing, we managed to haul ourselves up and into the night. As one, we started laughing at the absurdity of it all: Schwarz and Weiß, staggering drunk through the midnight streets of a Tokyo suburb.

"Hey," Yohji said, arm thrown over my shoulders, "there's a park not far from here. We could hang out and talk some more. I don't think I could make it home."

"I thought you didn't want to talk to me anymore," I reminded him. "You know, mortal enemies?"

This brought a fresh fit of laughter, and we stood there, doubled over with mirth. "Oh, yeah, right," Yohji said, "can you fight, Schwarz?"

"Not at the moment!"

"Me neither. Maybe if we sober up some, we can pick up where we left off," he offered amiably.

"Where's that park?" I asked, hoping for a place to sit the hell down and let the world stop spinning. I hadn't had much booze since before the tower, and tonight's little excursion had nearly done me in. Then again, I decided to blame the unidentified first drinks of the night for all our current suffering.

Yohji steered a course vaguely down the side of the street, wandering into the road from time to time. I kept pulling him back onto the sidewalk whenever he meandered too far. "Damn, Kudou, how much did you have before I showed up?" I scolded, not comfortable with the caretaker role at that juncture.

"Almost enough," he replied, voice distant.

We made it to the park, and I was relieved to find that we had it all to ourselves. I was doubly relieved to find a bench. Slumping onto it in tandem, we caught our breath for a moment, then regarded each other curiously.

"So, Schuldig," Yohji said.

"Yeah?"

"What now?"

I considered the question. An occasional firefly drifted past. Above us, the night sky glowed with ancient promise. Time seemed to be waiting for my reply. "I don't know," I murmured. "We're kind of on our own, now. Nowhere to go back to."

"That little kid all right?"

"You mean Nagi?" I asked, surprised. Then I remembered that, to those who didn't actually know him, Nagi looked much younger than his fifteen years. He'd been mistaken for a twelve-year-old many times, and in fact, that had usually worked to our favor. "Yeah, well he'll be all right, anyway."

"So what was that he was hitting Omi with?" Yohji asked, shrugging off his drunkenness with the ease of the habitual drinker.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I didn't know that I liked the idea of Kritiker having that information.

He must have seen that in my expression, for he raised a hand and shook his head. "Never mind, dumb question. If I were you, I wouldn't want me knowing either. Better question: we staying here all night?"

I chuckled. "Until you asked, I really hadn't thought about it," I told him. Though I didn't have a watch, I knew it was late. Very late, and most likely there wouldn't be anyone awake at the apartment to let me back in. Unless Brad stayed up. Frankly, the thought of him waiting up for me in his current condition scared the hell out of me. "I don't really have anywhere else to be."

"Me neither." He leaned back and sighed. "Man, I hate how things can change so fast, you know? We were good, the best. And now we're nothing."

"What happened, Yohji?" I asked, not sure he'd answer me, either. Questions about our teams and former organizations seemed rather personal. Still, I had to let him know I was concerned, and this was the only way I could think to do it.

Moving with the slow certainty of drunken concentration, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one, exhaled a plume of acrid smoke, then said, "Weiß is disbanded. I don't know if they're replacing us with other operatives, and I don't care. I get the feeling it doesn't matter if I tell you a damn thing, either. Does it."

Only slightly less impaired than he, I followed his lead and lit up a smoke, dimly noticing that it was my last. I shook my head. "No, it doesn't." I decided to take the plunge. "We're kind of between jobs ourselves. Actually, forcibly retired is more accurate."

"Funny, I'd have thought you guys staged a walkout," Yohji murmured, jade eyes sharper than they should have been.

"Yeah, well, same result, really. Can't go back, even if we wanted to." Something about the situation felt so right, so decent, it didn't bother me in the least that I was sharing some very dangerous information with a former enemy. Tonight, we were just two wounded men, trying to patch our lives back together. To hell with everything else.

He chuckled a little, which led to a coughing fit. When that subsided, Yohji asked, "So was the pay any good?"

I snorted. "Not really, but the perks were nice."

"I can't believe you guys worked for Takatori. Was he just a cover, or what?"

"Does it matter?" I really didn't want to think about that time in my life, especially when I was drunk enough to get morbid and depressive.

"Sorry, force of habit. You know, I used to be a detective."

"I didn't know that. Were you any good?"

He shook his head. "I kind of sucked, actually. Well, I was good at the actual work, but I sucked at finding the jobs, how about that. Not a useful combination when you like to eat real food regularly, if you know what I mean."

The conversation died off into an amiable silence. We watched the clouds move across the stars, we listened to the sounds of the night. Yohji excused himself and went behind a tree to piss. I momentarily wondered what the hell I was doing there.

Yohji returned to the bench and sat a little closer than before, his body radiating warmth. "So, are you staying around here?"

"Was that a line?" I challenged with a laugh. "Kudou Yohji, did you just lay a line on me?"

"No, Schuldig, if I was going to lay a line on you it'd be something more like: Do you come here often?" he replied, laughing with me.

"Okay, okay. You know I'm within walking distance of the bar," I reminded him. "How about you?"

"Likewise. It's a fair walk, but not a bad one. Tough when I'm in bad shape, like tonight, but that's why this park is here."

"This park is here just so you can stagger your drunken ass on in and sober up on the bench?"

"Damn right," he replied, eyes dancing. "It's all just for me, baby."

I laughed again, and realized that I liked his attitude and his banter. A lot. "I have the feeling that you and I have a lot in common, Kudou Yohji," I murmured, regarding him with half-closed eyes.

"You think so, do you?" He leaned a little closer, teasingly close, and just smiled.

"Yeah. A lot." My lips tingled, anticipating a kiss that didn't come. Instead, he stretched catlike and leaned back against the bench, looking quite pleased with himself. I swallowed down my frustration; I had fantasized about kissing this man for months now, ever since one of our encounters in combat. I forget exactly when, but I had started thinking about him becoming something other than an enemy, and my imagination had taken off with the idea. Now, so close, and he was calling the shots. Just like Brad. I reached for my cigarettes. "Damn it." I'd forgotten the pack was empty.

Yohji pulled two cigarettes from his own pack, lit them, then offered me one.

I reached for it, but he smirked and pulled it back. "Not like that," he stated. As my hand dropped to my side, he leaned forward again and slid the filter between my lips. "Like this."

We smoked in silence, me watching him watching me. The tension was exhilarating.

"Do you want to come back to my place?"

I caught my breath. He studied my face expectantly. But, like Cinderella, my time was nearly up, and so was the sun: the horizon glowed with the first hint of dawn. I couldn't hide the bitter disappointment that I felt; I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see it reflected in his.

Cool fingertips brushed my cheek. "Rain check, then?" he whispered, more understanding than I had dared to hope.

I nodded. I heard him rummaging in his pockets, then the scratching sound of hasty writing. "Here," he said, pressing a matchbook into my hand. "I know it's a little trite, but it's all I had to write on."

I smiled and looked into his eyes. "Thanks, Kudou."

"I have the feeling you'll find me again," he said with a smile.

"I have the feeling you're right."

A/N:

_Shades of feelings my heart denies  
bathing in shadows hidden in the eyes of lies – my glowing future…_

"Heaven's Gaze", CXS _Mystery_. This I see as a very Schu-and-Yohji song. At this point in the story, Schu is about to complicate his own life. Still, one might suspect that this, too, is something that Crawford has foreseen as inevitable, and possibly even necessary.

Translation notes –

For those of you who might not know this, _schuldig_ is the German word for _guilty_, which is why Schu felt a little self-conscious telling Yohji his name until he realized that the man probably didn't speak German.


	22. 22

**22**

_I knew the moment had arrived for killing the past and coming back to life_

It was nearly sunup as I returned to the apartment. My heart thumped anxiously. Pleasant thoughts of Balinese faded into anxious thoughts of Crawford. I wondered if he would let me back in, or if he would be waiting for me at the door, gun in hand. ::Brad? I'm back.::

Nothing. I swallowed and tried again. ::Brad, let me in, I'm home.::

::One moment, Schuldig.::

The apartment was so well made that I couldn't hear him walking to the door, and the lock made very little sound as it turned. I opened the door and stepped in, carefully closing and locking it behind me.

I turned, and Crawford motioned for me to follow him to his room. I couldn't pick up anything from his thoughts to indicate just where this might be going. I followed, terribly aware that I still stank of cheap cigarettes and whiskey. At least I wasn't drunk anymore.

He shut the door and regarded me with an unreadable expression on his face.

I blinked, mildly surprised. He had shaved while I was gone, and showered, too. He looked, well, normal. Before I could relax, I reminded myself that I had disobeyed a direct order: I had left the apartment without permission, though I had overheard him say it didn't matter. We both knew that didn't count. I fully expected him to take it out of my hide, and I braced myself.

But the expected blow never fell. "Did you turn left?" he asked, voice mild.

"What do you mean, Brad?" I had feared punishment for my delinquency. I had hoped he had come back to reality from his recent excursion to the outer rings. But this odd question threw me.

"When faced with the choice to continue on straight or turn left, what did you do?"

His eyes sparkled with what might have been expectation or malice; I really had no idea how to interpret this. "I…turned left," I replied, remembering how I had crossed the street toward that little club.

Brad gave me a ghost of a smile. "All right, then. I trust you're not hung over? Good. Because we have things to do now, and I promise you, I'll work you even if you're trashed."

"What kind of things?" When Brad Crawford said there were things to do, they were usually interesting. Then sudden memory prompted me to ask, "Oh, how is Nagi?"

"I gave him something pretty strong for the headache last night. It made him a bit queasy but he didn't vomit. I'll assess his condition when he wakes up. As for what kind of things we have on the agenda," he went on, making the transition from Nagi to business as smoothly as ever, "our work starts now. Take your shower and meet me in the kitchen when you're presentable."

Arguing that I hadn't had any sleep would be futile. When Brad Crawford said "now", he meant "now, or else." So, fifteen minutes later, I sat in the kitchen with Brad, my wet hair clinging to the back of my neck and dampening my t-shirt. I devoured my eggs and toast, grateful for the non-Asian fare, and sucked down coffee like an addict.

Brad watched me eat, his eyes thoughtful. I wondered if he knew where I'd gone last night, and who I'd met. I hoped he didn't.

There were, however, more important things we needed to discuss. The question was, how do you ask someone if they've recently had a mental breakdown? Around a mouthful of toast, I said, "Brad, I have to tell you, that mood swing of yours was really frightening. I'm glad you're feeling better now."

Brad regarded me flatly. "I don't get mood swings. Telepaths get mood swings, Schuldig, and I am not a telepath."

I rolled my eyes.

His voice softer, Brad said, "What I get…is much worse." He seemed distant for a moment, then turned back to his coffee.

I debated asking what he meant, then realized I did not want to know. Instead, I asked him, "So what is this work we need to do today?"

That familiar smug look returned to his face as he pushed his glasses back up with one elegant finger. "You are going shopping today. I want you to use your telepathy to make sure no one remembers seeing you. You'll need the practice."

"What am I shopping for?" I asked, a little excited by the prospect despite my lack of sleep. Something about his manner suggested intrigue.

"Disguises." He sat back and sipped his coffee.

I looked at him, a little startled. "What, is there a costume shop nearby? What do you mean, disguises?"

Brad smiled a thoroughly superior sort of smile. "What do you think I mean, Schuldig?" He'd obviously Seen something that came through loud and clear this time, and knew exactly what he wanted me to do. I realized he was hoping I would guess it on my own.

The caffeine had jump-started my brain, and now I pondered his question. Disguises, huh? What the hell would I be able to find nearby to use for disguises? I thought about the streets I had wandered the night before. There were some houses, some shops, the park of course, but nothing that seemed appropriate. I closed my eyes, trying to envision the shops more clearly. There had been a small bakery, a news stand, a restaurant, a hair stylist, a few bars, and a money lender.

Hair stylist. I felt myself grin, and Brad's echoing smile told me I'd figured it out. "Hair color," I said, feeling almost as smug as he looked. "Makeup. We already have clothes they've never seen us in before, thanks to you," I added, putting it all together in my head. Then one detail came up that I couldn't make fit. "What about Farfarello? With the scars and the eyepatch, he'll be damn near impossible to hide."

"I've already taken care of that," he stated, picking up a small bag and setting it on the table. As I reached for it, he explained, "There's a theatrical supply place not too far from here. I got us everything we'll need in that regard."

I gently dumped the contents of the bag on the table and rummaged through them. Putty, pancake makeup, cream makeup, fake hair in several shades, spirit gum, and, of all things, a fake scar kit. I looked up. "Fake scars? Doesn't he have enough? Or is that for someone else?"

Brad chuckled. "Actually, I was thinking we could use that to blend into his own scars, help with the texture problem. It'll take some practice, and we'll both have to become proficient with it. I don't know how well Farfarello would be able to apply it to himself, with his impaired depth perception."

I nodded. "What about the eyepatch?"

"I'm hoping that we can disguise the scars enough that he can get away with dark glasses instead."

I flashed him a happy grin. Yes, this was certainly mayhem talk. "So all I need to do is worry about you, me, and the kid? And some hair color for Farf?" At his nod, I clapped my hands with glee. "Damn, Brad, if I'd known it'd be that easy --"

"Hold on, Schu," he said, raising a hand to catch my attention. "I never said it would be easy. We'll have to get so adept at changing disguises that it will become our lifestyle for a while. It will become boring, then stressful, and sometimes it won't quite work. But I've Seen that it will get us through the next few months relatively unscathed."

That "relatively" bothered me, but I didn't feel like asking. Sometimes it was better to leave foreknowing solely in Brad's domain, and not try to be a part of it. "Fair enough, I'll try to treat it seriously. Do you have a shopping list for me, or am I faking it?"

"As gifted as you are at faking and bluffing," he said, "I do have a list. But I fully expect you to use your own unique creativity, Schuldig. You know what kind of look would work best for Nagi. I want each of us to be able to melt into any crowd anywhere in the world and vanish without a trace."

"Okay, so what's on the list?" I asked as I cleaned up my breakfast plates.

"Electric clippers for me and Farfarello, hair dyes, bleaching kits. Skin bronzing cream. A mustache care kit --"

"Mustache care, Brad?" I blurted. "For whom?" I honestly didn't know if I could even grow one, and I had never seen Brad try, either.

With a wry smile he held up the fake hair and spirit gum. "At least until I have time to grow my own."

"What did they teach you in leader training, anyway?" I asked. The thought of Brad knowing how to apply fake hair to fashion a believable mustache truly boggled my mind.

"Be sure to get unscented deodorant, too," he went on as though I hadn't interrupted. "Anything else you might find that could possibly be useful. And when you're done, make sure the clerk and anyone else who saw you will remember someone other than a red-haired gaijin man, understood? Be subtle, Schu."

"Are you sure about the clothes?" I asked. "Maybe I should look for new outfits too."

"Not at this time," Brad stated. "We need enough of the makeup supplies to practice for a while. When we're ready to take our show on the road, I'll let you know. Now get going. I want you back here for lunch."

I dressed as generically as possible, and as an afterthought tied the gaudy teal silk scarf around my head, covering my distinctly non-Japanese hair. Brad nodded his approval as he handed me some cash and wished me luck.

Sunlight streamed over me as I walked, and I delighted in the subtle scents that come with a Japanese summer morning. True, technically it was late spring, but already the air was heady with the fullness of summer, and birds were everywhere. I nearly danced as I strolled down the street, any lingering fatigue totally forgotten.

Again, influencing the non-psionic minds around me was quite easy. I entered the hair stylist's shop unnoticed and looked around. It was actually a supply shop, not a place where people went to have their hair done but where one could get all manner of things to do one's own. I shook my head. It figured that I had misread the sign; I really wasn't all that good with written Japanese. But Brad had known I could find all these things here, and I hadn't questioned, and now here I was, the only customer, surrounded by shelves of disguises.

I grabbed a shopping basket and set to work. Fortunately most of the packages were labeled in at least two languages, one of them easier to read than Japanese. I found something to remove temporary colors without bleaching, then grabbed half a dozen temporary colors, some permanent colors, bleaches and activators, mixing bottles, gloves. The next aisle saw some electric clippers and a few sets of hand shears join the goods in the basket, as well as a couple of hair extensions.

Trying to hurry, I passed by the display of regular makeup, then backpedaled. I regarded the gaudy eye makeup and nail polish, and grinned. Handfuls of nail enamels and makeup went into the basket, and I picked out a few choice eyeliners, too. On impulse, I added three sets of magnetic clip-on earrings.

They didn't have the deodorant, but they did have the suntan-in-a-bottle stuff, in several shades. I dumped five in the basket and called it good. The clerk eyed me suspiciously for a moment, but I gave her the suggestion that I was a half-Japanese woman starting a parlor out of her home, and she smiled and finished the transaction.

I still had a little money left, so I stopped in at the bakery on my way back home. Home, I thought wryly. Well, it was as close as I would get to one for a while, I may as well call it that. I picked out some sweets for later, paid, then erased my image from everyone in the building. Sudden pain flared behind my eyes; I winced and hurried back to the apartment, now cursing the very morning sun that had cheered me not so long ago.

A/N:

_I knew the moment had arrived for killing the past and coming back to life  
_

Brad is once again setting the pace for things, so we have a moment with Pink Floyd. This particular quote applies equally well to Brad shrugging off his recent angst as well as the new project he assigns to Schuldig. The song itself, "Coming Back to Life" from the live album _Pulse_, is haunting and powerful, perfect for a powerful and haunted man like Brad Crawford.

Review Responses:

First, to all the new reviewers – welcome aboard!

I'm glad you're all enjoying the story. May I remind everyone reading this fic that "To Those About to Die" is a currently-posted companion piece, and I'm going to be diving into a couple of other related projects as soon as they stop simmering and come to a full boil.

Since I'm getting so many thoughtful reviews, my replies to them are starting to get a little long-winded. I don't want to short-change anyone here, and I don't want to make these replies so long that they distract from the story. If you'll all indulge me, I'm setting up a live journal to handle the excess verbiage, and to dispense any random hints, clues, updates, etc. Come and visit! (The address for my live journal is in my profile.)

_**May**_ – Brad Crawford is a very complex man, and I hope I continue to do him justice.

**_Lestat _**– (bows again)

_**Mastermind Sphinx**_ – I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and the "character relevant lemons"! As for Farfarello, I love writing him. He's more deep than most people suspect, and his head is full of interesting things. Now, you're one of the ones I'm going to direct to my live journal, for a more in-depth reply to the technical side of things. Briefly, about that "one major nitpick"…it's a fair cop: I didn't know that. oo;; However, I also don't "know" how powerful psi-talents would be affected by the kinds of injuries the men of Schwarz received at the tower. I'm making that up as I go. (Actually, this story has been plotted out for at least 8 years; I won't tell you yet how long it goes after the "Gluhen" timeline. You'll have to visit my live journal for any more info on that!)

**_Koneko _**– Wow! Thank you! I gotta confess, the first thing I do every day is check for reviews! I love the feedback – I honestly didn't realize there were that many dedicated Schwarz fans out there!

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – the sharing of the Schu is an ancient tradition, dating back at least a couple hundred years…it's supposed to bring good fortune, but usually only brings sexual joy and mental stress. –

_**Yanagi-sen**_ – read on, all will be explained.


	23. 23

**23**

_You'd better make your face up with your favorite disguise…_

"Thanks, kid," I murmured as Nagi shut the door behind me. I set down my bags and staggered to the toilet. The headache combined with bright daylight had spawned sudden nausea; I knelt and clung to the porcelain, debating whether I would be better off if I did or did not give in and vomit.

The nausea passed slowly, my stomach still where it should be. I cautiously rose and went for the medicine cabinet, still a little amazed that Brad had actually allowed us to unpack and stock the damn thing. Two headache pills. No, make it three, swallowed dry. My throat hurt, and my stomach threatened to send them right back up, but I waited it out. Slowly I made my way to the living room. I wanted to lie down, but I had the nasty feeling that the room would spin, and I didn't really want that.

Nagi shot me a disgusted look that fairly accused me of being hung over. Farfarello ignored me, choosing instead to rummage through the bags I'd left by the door. Brad was in the kitchen, his back to me.

I went into the kitchen for some water and stopped dead in my tracks. Brad had turned, and he now sported a very neat black mustache! It amazed me how such a little change could have such a big effect. He looked like a different man, though one in dire need of a haircut to match his trim mustache.

"Wow!" I blurted, then laughed a little in spite of my headache. "Where did you learn to do that shit, Brad?"

He smirked; the mustache made him seem positively devilish. "You never took the espionage track, did you, Schuldig?"

"Saw that it would come in handy, did you?" I asked as I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a cautious sip. "No, I didn't. Just explosives and general mayhem. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve, then?"

Brad looked like he was debating something. Then he picked up what looked like a magazine and handed it to me. "I never took espionage either."

Dumbfounded, I stared at him.

Brad shrugged. "I cheated."

I looked at the book. _Beginning Stagecraft – Makeup._ "I'll be damned," I murmured. I moved closer to inspect his handiwork. Though I hadn't looked too closely at Takatori Reiji, I had a pretty good idea what genuine facial hair should look like, and this was pretty convincing. "This your first try? It's good."

"Yes, and thank you. How did your shopping go?"

"Fantastic, as you already knew, of course." I raided the freezer for some ice and wrapped it in a dish towel, then pressed it against the base of my skull. "Messing with people's minds was easy enough, but I guess I overdid it." Remembering the look on Nagi's face, I grimaced and added, "Nagi thinks it's a hangover."

"And well he might," Brad chided in a quiet voice.

I bowed my head, ashamed yet unrepentant. "I couldn't have helped him anyway, Brad. You know that."

"I do know that. That's why Nagi is angry with you, but I am not."

I looked up into his eyes. They regarded me with a gentle sadness that I could not define. "Brad, I--"

He held up a hand to stop what I was about to say. "Schuldig, leave it be. Things are going as they must. You and Nagi will both have recurring headaches for a while, so I've sent for more medications for you both. Keep using your powers regularly. That's the only way your headaches will get better. I'm still working on Nagi."

I wanted to ask, but he didn't give me the chance.

"Farf had a mild seizure this morning," Brad went on, voice low. "He didn't go into a full-blown fit or anything, he just sort of…_paused_. Doesn't remember the few minutes before it, though he seems clear-headed now." Brad frowned a little. "I don't want to change his meds just yet. If he has another, I'll consult the doctor again. Until then, just help me watch him."

"Sure," I mumbled. I had tried to nod, but movement brought my headache back into sharp focus. The ice had been a mistake. I dumped it into the sink, shook out the towel and draped it over the faucet. Trying to distract myself from the pain, I asked, "How long are you keeping the nose hairs?"

He raised a hand to his lip as though he'd forgotten all about it. "Oh, I want to see how long it lasts. That will be important to know: can I eat in this thing, stuff like that. Did you get the clippers?"

"Yep, along with a ton of other stuff. They didn't have deodorant, though."

"Not a problem. We can get some with our next batch of general supplies. Ever give someone a haircut, Schu?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Uh, you're joking, right? With this headache, and without some sleep first, I don't think I could make a straight line…"

"Later, then. You can practice on Farfarello, if he lets you. We'll each need to learn how to do this, on each other and on ourselves. Makeup, hair, all of it." He gave me a determined look. "We will not be captured."

"Prediction, or defiance, Brad?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, Brad turned away and rifled through the fridge. Then he stated, "Both, I think. Yes. Both."

I excused myself from the kitchen as he started fixing lunch. The sight of food made me queasy, and the damn headache was laughing at the medicine. I found something else I could take on top of the other stuff and downed it, sipping a little of my bottled water as a chaser. I didn't want to be alone, though, so I parked myself on the couch and leaned my head back. If the pain would just let me sleep…

I must have dozed off. Farf nudged my shoulder, and the smell of food wafted to my nose. "Can you eat?" he asked, voice low.

Without thinking, I nodded. Relief flooded me as I realized it hadn't hurt to do so. "Yeah, I think I can eat." Brad was no gourmet chef, but he did manage a decent stir fry. I followed Farf to the table.

Over lunch, I kept staring at Brad's mouth, with the unaccustomed hair over his lip. Amazingly, the mustache stayed on, even when he drank.

Across the table, Farf asked, "Do I get one of those too, Crawford? Or do you have something else planned for me?"

I laughed a little, and Nagi snorted. The image of the Irishman with a mustache struck me as hilarious, and it seemed that Nagi was on the same wavelength there. I gestured with a chopstick and told him, "No, but I want to see one on Nagi!"

"Like hell, Schuldig," Nagi barked, the words coming a little easier today. "You get a mustache, you look like a Viking."

Farf chuckled at that one. "Chibi's got a point, there, Schu. Eric the Red, is it?"

I expected Brad to put a stop to our bantering, insisting that this was serious business or some such, but instead he joined in. "Actually, Farfarello, I'm going to make him grow his own. I want mine to be removable, of course."

I glared at him. "Brad, you wouldn't!"

"At least I'm not making you cut your hair. Yet."

"You --! You're joking, right?"

He didn't answer, merely sipped his tea. Then: "If everyone's done, we need to get to work. There are a couple of bags that need going through, and I believe Schuldig brought us dessert."

"There's hair dye and makeup and stuff," Farf offered. "I've already looked through it."

"Thank you, Farf," Brad said. "Let's pull everything out of the bags and go through it all together, though. I want everyone familiar with these items and how to use them."

We adjourned to the living room. Farf divvied up the pastries while Brad and I lined up the various items on the low table.

"I'm impressed," Brad stated softly. "Again, good work, Schu."

"You're welcome," I murmured.

Over the next half-hour, we went through the items and read the instructions on the packaging. Mostly it was Brad reading and the three of us listening, in various stages of interest. Farfarello was already well-versed in the use of bleaching agents, and I had no intention of coloring my own hair. Nagi reached over and took one of the instruction sheets, and started reading it for himself, concentrating hard. It worried me a little that he was still having so much trouble with language. I made a mental note to discuss this with Brad later.

Once the hair color tutorial was over, Brad got his haircut, though it was Farf, not I, who did the work. The Irishman had been using clippers for years, and was quick and precise. At Brad's instruction, we used newspaper to catch the hair, and when done, I carefully took it into the bathroom and dumped the hair down the toilet. I wasn't totally sure why he had me do that, but I figured he'd tell me or not, as he saw fit.

Then we turned our attention to the makeup, regular and theatrical. Brad seemed quite interested in things that could change skin tone or distract from the color of one's eyes. In a low tone he murmured, "Colored contact lenses," as though putting that on his to-do list.

Working in tandem, Brad and I started on Farf's stage makeup to hide the scars. Nagi watched with distant amusement as more of the putty ended up stuck to us than our intended target. Finally, Farf growled, "Ah, fuck, let off! I'll do it myself!" He grabbed the thick makeup and some other items and stomped into the bathroom, where he leaned in close to the mirror and set to work fixing our mess.

"Well, it _is_ better if he can do this himself," Brad offered, trying to get the sticky makeup off his fingers.

"Who's this stuff for?" Nagi asked, holding up an assortment of eye makeup and nail polish.

I shot him my best _hentai_ grin. "Why, it's for you, of course!"

Nagi backed away as I came toward him. "Crawford, what is he doing?"

"I have no idea." Brad tried hard not to smile.

I took the items out of his hands and looked them over, then tumbled them onto the couch, keeping only the electric purple nail enamel. "Give me your hand," I told him as I shook the little bottle.

"Crawford, do I have to?" Nagi clearly had no desire to participate in our disguise training. Either that, or after the mess I'd helped make of Farfarello, he didn't trust me to touch him.

"Schuldig, let's wait on Nagi," Brad stated thoughtfully. "We'll have a perfect opportunity to create and test his disguise, but he needs to cooperate with you and today is not the day for that."

I sighed, disappointed. "Oh, all right." I looked at Nagi, who still regarded me with a little disgust. "Hey, kiddo, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's not that," the boy murmured, looking at his feet.

I returned the nail polish to the pile and stepped closer. Nagi didn't move. "Hey, chibi," I whispered, "I'm sorry about last night."

He looked up, midnight eyes reproachful and expectant.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Crawford told you not to go," he stated in flat accusation.

I sighed. "You're right. He did." I glanced toward where Brad had been standing, but he wasn't there. "But kiddo, I couldn't stay, either."

"Do you hate each other now?"

It suddenly occurred to me that this kid might have figured out how close Brad and I had gotten, and then the fighting… "No, kid, we don't hate each other. You know how I get when I'm stressed. Well, right now, we're all stressed, and we're all trying to get better. Right?"

Still speaking in that hesitant whisper, Nagi said, "I can't use my powers. I tried, but it hurt too much." It had the sound of a confession, and I realized that he hadn't told Crawford this.

"Give it time, chibi. Give it time." I didn't know what else to say.

A/N:

_You'd better make your face up with your favorite disguise…_

In addition to being a Pink Floyd fan, Brad has a sick sense of humor: "Run Like Hell" (_The Wall_).


	24. 24

**24**

_We were once so close to heaven_

_Peter came out and gave us medals_

_Declaring us the nicest of the damned_

It took even longer to get the special effects putty off Farfarello's face than off Brad's hands. The Irishman had actually managed to mask the scars, though, so the effort was definitely worthwhile. He'd come out of the bathroom with a barely-marked, tanned face so totally unlike himself that I'd just stared.

By the time we got him and the bathroom sink all cleaned up, Nagi had retired to his bed, and Brad's mustache was falling off. As Brad peeled off the last few chunks of fake hair, I leaned back against the wall and yawned. "Hey, Brad?"

"What is it, Schuldig?" he mumbled, picking at the glue on his lip.

"Did you know that Nagi's trying to use his powers?" I didn't feel the least bit bad about ratting out the kid like that. His well-being was my business, and Brad's; this development could be important.

"I figured he might," Brad replied. "And?"

"It doesn't work, it just hurts him."

Brad sighed and for a moment uncertainty clouded his eyes. Then he said, "Well, like I told you, the headaches will be a fact of life for the two of you for a while. I wish it were different, but at this point, that's how it stands."

"Hey, would it help him to have some music, like me? That goth stuff has been a lifesaver. Mindsaver, actually; I'd like more, if you can manage it." I leaned forward and draped myself over his back playfully.

"Schuldig, we are in the bathroom," Brad reminded me, but not without a smile.

"So? At least it's bigger than that one place, you know, with the five-minute shower?" I nibbled at his ear. "Anyway, I'd like to get him something to listen to, something for him to focus on."

"Already taken care of," Brad said with that casual smugness.

Intoxicated by his scent, his presence, I let my hands wander across his chest, and lower. I usually don't play from this position, but having his back against my chest excited me. "Um, Brad?"

He turned slowly, not avoiding my touch but not leaning into it, either. "Schuldig." His hands came up to my shoulders, then slid down my back.

I yawned, the suddenness of it bringing tears to my eyes.

Brad Crawford laughed softly. "Well, I didn't expect that!"

Defeated by weariness, I leaned my head against his shoulder. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

"I think you need sleep, actually."

"I'd sleep!"

He looked into my eyes and shook his head. "No, you wouldn't." Warm lips pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. "Go on, I'll finish putting things away."

Reluctantly, I did as he suggested. My body was grateful for the rest, even if my libido resented it. I woke to sticky sheets, the dreams unremembered. Fact of life ever since I was old enough, though the years in between had robbed me of the memories of the boy I had once been. With a sigh, I stripped the bed and changed the sheets before dressing and going in search of breakfast.

Brad and Farfarello sat at the kitchen table; there was no sign of Nagi. I got myself a cup of coffee and joined them. "What's on the schedule today?"

"I'm getting us some travel gear," Brad answered, a little distracted by something in the morning news.

"Hey, how did you manage to get a newspaper?" I asked, perplexed.

He focused on me and said, "Schuldig, you never pay attention, do you? The yakuza owed me. I'm collecting. They send a runner over with my newspapers, and I send the runner back out for whatever else we need that doesn't warrant a personal excursion."

"Uh huh… What kind of travel gear? You already got us nice new suitcases."

"They're too bulky. We need something lighter." He went back to ignoring me.

"Lighter? Brad, are you saying you messed up?" I prodded, enjoying the prospect. He didn't make mistakes often, and I pounced on them whenever I caught one.

"I'm saying nothing of the sort," he stated, glaring at me around the paper. "I'm saying that things have changed, and now I have a clearer picture of what will be needed. Get it through your head, Schu: this is not a vacation. This is not for fun. Right now it looks calm and easy, but it will not last."

"Yeah, right." I sulked a little. I had enjoyed the madcap day of makeup and disguises, and now it looked like Paranoid-man was back.

Brad raised an eyebrow at me. "I am not being paranoid, Schuldig. Stop that right now."

Shit.

Continuing on as if it were the most natural thing to do, Brad said, "This afternoon, once we have the new gear, we will all take a hand in repacking and making certain we can each carry our belongings. That's right, Schu – if you can't carry it, it stays behind."

"What are we going to do with the extra crap, Brad? I mean, won't that leave a road map for any object readers they put on our trail?" It scared me that our leader could overlook such an obvious thing.

But Brad Crawford was not a man to overlook anything. At my words, his lips curved into a dark and satisfied smirk, and I knew that Rosenkreuz was in for a ride. "I have arranged for a dispersal pattern over a period of time once we have left the country," he announced. "The yakuza will make certain that our trail is wide and muddy. As they say in America, we're going to lead our pursuit on a wild goose chase."

"And we're the geese," Farfarello commented. "So, in those American sayings, Crawford, do the geese get away? Or do they get cooked?"

"Depends on the geese, really. I don't plan to get caught, Farfarello. I don't plan for any of us to get caught." Brad raised his coffee cup in an impromptu toast.

Nagi wandered in for some breakfast, and I touched his mind lightly, not thinking about it. ::Hey, kiddo. How'd you sleep?::

"Knock it off, Schuldig," Nagi grumbled with a frown. "It still hurts."

Brad and I exchanged glances. Then Brad said, "The doctor is sending something for that, Nagi. You'll let me know how it works for you."

"Hai."

The next few days were a blur of activity. Supplies arrived courtesy of the yakuza errand boys, and between repacking and disguise practice, I lost track of the time. Then again, time had become slippery for me lately. Time was numbers, and numbers hadn't been my friends since I woke up on the beach. Momentarily I wondered if I should mention that to Brad, then I suspected I had already done so. Either way, it didn't matter much. I wasn't an accountant, after all.

I found the new bags annoying and too small, though Farfarello and Nagi said they were an improvement over the large suitcases. These bags were soft canvas things, lightweight, but deciding what to stuff into them made me cranky. I had precious little left that I could call my own; I didn't want to abandon any of it. Then, as I crammed things into the bags, I realized that I was down to my last pack of smokes. "Hey, Brad, can you get me some more cigarettes?" I asked casually.

"Actually, Schuldig, we need to have a little talk about that."

Oh, no. He wasn't! He couldn't! I looked up, shock on my face.

Brad looked at me with a stern expression. "You're going to have to quit smoking."

"Fuck you!" I leaped to my feet, pointing at him as if my hand were a loaded gun. "You will not take that away from me, Brad! I'll kill someone!"

"I thought you weren't addicted," he said with mild amusement.

"I never said that!"

"You do," Farf commented. "All the time."

"Shut up, Farf! Whose side are you on?" I cried, voice cracking a little.

"Schuldig," Brad addressed me calmly, "I didn't say when. But you will have to give it up sooner than you want to. Get used to the idea. If you lay it down willingly, it will go better for you."

"Hell no, Brad. I'm all about kicking and screaming every inch of the way," I muttered, sensing defeat but not yet willing to concede.

"And, following what we discussed earlier about object readers, I don't want you discarding the butts in public. No flinging them on the ground, no stubbing them out in ashtrays. Flush them, or keep them and we'll dispose of them later." His face indicated that he was dead serious.

I blinked, dumbstruck. "Flush them or keep them? Brad, you're getting weird about things again."

"No, he's not," Farfarello interjected, one beat ahead of Nagi. The Irishman cocked his head to regard me with his good eye and said, "They can find out where you've been, what you were thinking at the time, even…who you were with."

"They're right, Schuldig," Nagi said, voice soft but more certain today than it had been. "If it were me, I would hit us with everything they have. Am I right, Crawford, that they think we have something of theirs?"

Brad turned toward our youngest member and bowed slightly. "I suspect that is the case, Nagi. We didn't just kill the Elders, we stole their power. At least, I'm sure that's what the rest of Esset is thinking right about now. That's partly why they haven't done anything overt yet. They don't know how strong we are."

"Come on, that's crazy!" I blurted. "How the hell could we take their power?"

Farfarello gave me a curious look and said, "By stealing their god, of course."

Nagi shot me a worried glance. Crawford squared his shoulders and said, "Explain."

"It's simple, really," Farfarello said, then took a moment to choose his next words. "It can't die, and it didn't go into the girl. Where is it, then? I touched the old man, when I took his blood and his life." He looked down at his hands. "Where did the beast go?"

Nagi edged closer to me. From his surface thoughts I picked up a delicate panic. I found myself stepping between him and Farfarello. "Far, my friend, that is one hell of a theory," I murmured, trying to assess the Irishman's mental state.

"Isn't it, though? That would explain their caution, wouldn't it?" He looked quite pleased with himself, serene in his own logic. But his thoughts roiled with a powerful tide.

::Brad?::

::Right with you, Schu.:: "Farfarello, I agree that they might think something of the sort, though I do not happen to think that's the reality of it."

"Did I say I believed it myself, Crawford?" Farf asked, voice low. "I may be crazy, but I'm not a fool. There are no other gods, and my destiny lies along another road than their mysticism."

::Shit, he's on the seizure medication, not his antipsychotics!:: I couldn't keep the fear from my thoughts, and I hoped Farf couldn't smell it in my sweat.

::Wouldn't matter anyway,:: Brad told me. ::Meds or not, this line of logic is too determined to play itself out. We need to keep him from spiraling up any higher. Damn, it's over there; distract him, Schu.:: Moving casually, Brad aimed for his suit coat, draped atop his new travel bag.

I knew what he was after, and my fear grew. When Brad had to use the heavy tranquilizer on Farfarello, things were as close to disastrous as they could get without bloodshed. "Hey, Farf?" I tried to get his attention, then realized I had nothing useful to say. His one golden eye stared right through me; I could feel the tension rising to its apex.

"Iie!" Nagi cried out, clutching at his head.

I reached for the boy as he sank to his knees and tears streamed from wide, dilated eyes. Brad turned, hypo in hand, concern pouring off his shields. Only Farfarello remained still, watching everything.

A/N:

_We were once so close to heaven _

_Peter came out and gave us medals_

_Declaring us the nicest of the damned_

We're headed into Farf-land, with a lead-in from "Road Movie to Berlin" by They Might Be Giants (_Flood_). This is a quirky band with quirky songs, and (in my world) a favorite of Farfarello's. This chapter spans several days, going from optimistically normal to unsettling with the speed of real life.

_Translation notes_ ­–

_hai_ ­– yes

_iie!_ – no!


	25. 25

**25**

_Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire and of things that will bite_

"I tried to hold him," Nagi whispered as though the effort caused him great pain. "So you could get his jacket on him." Midnight eyes regarded me without hope. "Crawford-san, I'm sorry."

As Brad slid the needle back out of the pale man's arm, Farfarello rose and walked slowly to the couch. As though the rest of us weren't there, he lay down and, in moments, fell asleep.

"You should have told me, Nagi," Brad chided gently. "Don't hide things like that anymore, all right? I need to know the condition of my team."

Nagi nodded weakly, still holding his head.

Crawford made certain that Farf was out cold, then went to the bathroom and got something from the medicine cabinet. He brought Nagi a couple of the new headache pills and then headed for the kitchen. I could hear the fridge open and the sound of something being poured into a glass.

Nagi frowned at the pills in his hand and looked up at me, eyes wide and sad. "They make me sick, Schu."

I put my hand on his shoulder, glancing up as Brad returned with Nagi's juice. "Brad, can we give him just one of these? Or cut one in half, maybe? They make him sick."

Brad held out his hand, and Nagi gave him the tablets. Taking advantage of an unconscious Farfarello, Brad unpacked one of the sharper knives and cut the pills more or less in half. He wiped off the knife, repacked it, then brought Nagi one of the partial pills. "I'll put these back in the bottle, then. Let's see if that works, all right?"

Nagi nodded and took the medicine, wincing at the bitterness on his tongue. I helped him to his feet, then on into his bedroom. I sat with him in silence until he fell asleep. The pill had knocked him out, even at the lesser dosage. At least he hadn't thrown up.

With a sigh, I let myself out of his room, careful not to make any noise. Brad met me in the living room, Farf's straitjacket in hand. ::Let's make sure for tonight,:: he told me, not risking speech. Farfarello had a notoriously high tolerance for tranquilizers; he could wake at any moment. Together we approached the still figure, Brad holding the jacket out like a shield.

But this time, Farfarello was still unconscious. We wrestled him into the jacket with practiced speed, tucking him back onto the couch in pretty much the same position he had been in before. As we withdrew I saw that Brad's hands were shaking. And I badly wanted a cigarette.

Brad motioned me into his room, and I followed. He left the door open. Moving quickly and quietly, he took one of his guns from under his pillow and unlocked the safety. This would be a sleepless night, for him, anyway. I didn't know if I could stay awake much longer, though the adrenalin rush promised me at least another wakeful hour.

::So what do we do now, Brad?:: I asked mentally. I needed to know if I could use my telepathy without pain. ::Somehow I don't think we can mix antipsychotics and anti-seizure medication. I don't even know what the sedative will do to him at this point, do you? Can we ask the doctor, maybe?::

::Too risky,:: he replied, distracted for a moment.

Glimpses of Farfarello and Nagi flowed through his thoughts, catching on different currents and spinning off like leaves in a river. I pulled back from our mental link, not wanting to be caught up in his visions. They made me dizzy and disoriented; Rosenkreuz teaching held that a telepath reading a precog could get lost in the streams of time. Though it would be an interesting road to madness, the destination didn't thrill me.

::Sorry, what were we talking about?:: Brad asked once the visions had resolved themselves.

::About Farf. Do we ask the doctor, or mix meds at will?::

::We can't discuss his psychosis with the doctor. That information would put us at risk of discovery. Unfortunately, until the seizures fade off some, we'll just have to stay on our toes. More than usual.::

::Fade off? Brad, are you saying he'll get better? That's…impossible.:: I shivered a little. The beast with the deadly head wound, miraculously healed… ::You know what he'll think about that, right?::

::He already does, Schuldig. You've heard him yourself.:: At this point, Brad wanted a stiff drink.

I still wanted a cigarette.

Brad shook his head, picking up on my craving. ::Things are going to get weird, Schuldig. I can't explain any better than that.::

::Weird in what way? Esset psi-hunters weird, or Lamb of God weird?:: I couldn't keep the dread from coloring my mental speech. In some ways, I hoped he meant Esset.

::Schuldig, I can't See much about Farfarello right now. I haven't Seen much about him since well before the tower. It's almost as if he's fallen off my radar. What about you?::

::I can contact him, no problem.:: Then I realized something that I hadn't noticed before. ::But the team link…the team link is gone, Brad!:: I reached on a more subtle level than our conversation, and shook my head. ::He's not there. I can read him like he was a stranger, but only that. I can't see him anymore.:: Sadness rose up in me, threatened to drag me under. I had forged that team link among the four of us early on, before we even came to this country. We were strong together. None of us could get lost, or left behind. With but a flick of attention, each of us could sense the others, no matter where they were.

Now Farfarello was gone. There was Nagi, wounded and sleeping; there was Brad, concerned and weary; but Far, my dear mad friend, felt like a familiar stranger to me now. I hadn't noticed when I had touched his mind before, but speech and reading are not the same as a functioning team bond. Our team bond was something deeper, something instinctive that worked for all of us, even though I was the only telepath. The team bond had made us a family.

I met Brad's eyes and saw my grief echoed there.

::Schu, can you rebuild it?:: he asked gently. ::Once your shields are fixed, and you're back up to strength, do you think you can rebuild the link?::

::You know I'll try, Brad. I…I need him.:: Memories, good and bad, chased one another through my thoughts. I shook them off; I didn't want Brad to see all that.

Brad reached up and cupped my chin. He looked into my eyes, then said aloud, "Get some sleep, Schu. I'll keep watch."

I realized that he meant for me to sleep in his room. Any satisfaction at the thought was swept away by fatigue. For a moment I debated what to wear, as I realized that going nudist would not be my best choice with Farf and Nagi both in distress this night. The old jeans and t-shirt would do for pajamas, then. Without further discussion, I flopped back on the bed; I knew that Brad meant for me to sleep until he could stay awake no longer, so I had to make the best of it.

But sleep wouldn't come. The memories continued tumbling in alternating waves of whimsy and pure terror. Farfarello, poor tortured heart, slave to master Church, origin of the Inquisition. His fascination with Nagi bordered on religious mania. Far needed to protect and destroy those things of God, torn by conflict within his soul, never certain which was the way to redemption. Nagi, his lamb, his offering…

I woke, drenched in sweat and panting. Brad sat beside me on the bed, back propped against the wall, gun trained on the doorway. He watched as I got up and ran my hands through my soggy hair. The feeling of dread from my memory-dream took its damn sweet time leaving.

"You all right, Schuldig?" he asked, voice low.

"Yeah, I'm going to the bathroom," I muttered as I headed to the door.

"Look in on the others while you're up."

I turned toward the couch. Far was still out cold, curled up in his straitjacket. I gave Brad a thumbs-up, then headed over to Nagi's room. The kid looked like he was sleeping well enough. I tugged the covers back up over his thin shoulder and touched his forehead, though his problem had nothing to do with fever. I didn't know what else to do. He wasn't sweaty or hot; I took that as a good sign.

After tending my own needs, I checked on Farf one more time just to be sure. Still out. I returned to Brad's room.

Crawford showed no sign of fatigue, sitting there as alert as before.

"Want some sleep?" I asked as I felt the bed for a non-sweaty area to sit on.

"No, I'm fine, Schu. You sleep some more, I know you need it."

"Actually, I'm kind of awake," I confessed. "Didn't sleep well. Bad dreams."

He looked at me, then nodded. "All right." Brad handed me the gun and took off his shirt, then lay down on the fresh side of the bed. "You know the drill, Schu."

"If he gets out of the restraints, shoot to kill." If I hadn't had nightmares already, the thought of Farfarello ripping out of his straitjacket was enough to frighten sleep away.

"I don't foresee it happening, but stay sharp."

A/N:

_Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire and of things that will bite_

From Metallica's self-titled album, "Enter Sandman" is either about Farfarello's dreams, or dreams about Farfarello. Or both. In any case, I didn't sleep well after writing this one. oO


	26. 26

**26**

_leave me alone – make it easy for yourself_

If I were a religious man, I'd give thanks, but that would just attract Far's attention.

Three days without an incident. After that one evening, I'd really begun to worry about our situation. I mean, how the hell could we hide out from Esset operatives and psi-agents if one of our own was trying to kill us? But Far had been calm when we let him out of his straitjacket the next morning, and had shown no sign of his earlier agitation. Tonight he was engrossed in some science program on the television, for the moment locked in his own mercifully non-violent world.

As much of a relief as that was, now I had Nagi to contend with. He had agreed to stop trying to use his telekinetics for a while, give himself time to mend. That had helped with the headaches, but we still had other things to work on. I had anticipated this evening with extremely mixed feelings. As much as I wanted it, I knew he'd fight me. Telling him it was for his own good did nothing to change his mind.

"Schuldig, stop that. I don't want it!"

"Chibi, it'll be easier if you hold still," I growled, trying to concentrate.

"Itai! Do you even know what you're doing with that thing? Crawford-san, please get him off me!"

"Nagi," Brad addressed him in a commanding tone, "cooperate with Schuldig. He won't hurt you if you don't fight him."

The boy sighed and relaxed a little, though his thoughts still projected a steady stream of disgusted insults at me. At least this light mental contact didn't hurt him today. I endured his running commentary with a self-satisfied smirk. "Bitch all you like, I'm having my way with you, gaki."

"Mou! That's nasty! It's all slimy!"

Nagi tried to pull away, but I held him firmly. "Kid, for this to work right, I have to lick the tip. Now hold still!"

"You're going to put my eye out with that thing." Nagi stopped struggling and glared at me.

I finished, quite satisfied now. I moved back and put away my toys, then folded my arms and regarded him with a critical eye. "What do you think, Brad? Did I do him justice?"

Nagi heaved another sigh and stood up, brushing a hand over his shiny black shirt. Little specks of blue and silver clung to it like stardust.

Brad came over and looked at our Prodigy, and smiled. "Congratulations, Schuldig. Nagi is now invisible."

The kid rolled his eyes. "Please. I'm not invisible, I look stupid."

"Chibi," I said, steering him toward the bathroom mirror, "you look perfect."

I watched over his shoulder as he took it all in. His hair now gleamed blue-black, dyed with care to match the goth standard. I had trimmed his hair close in back, then brushed the rest forward to fall over one eye; color mousse shimmered an indigo wave across the edges. Nagi raised one slender hand, now tipped with metallic blue nails, and pushed the hair back, his face frozen in an expression of total shock.

Lips and cheeks rendered pale with makeup and eyes painted with silver shadow, blue lashes, and jet black eyeliner transformed his face into an Egyptian mask of rare beauty. As he stared at himself, I leaned forward and clipped a magnetic earring onto his left lobe, then changed my mind and put it up on his cartilage instead.

"Schuldig," Nagi murmured, "you are so weird."

"Kiddo, looking like this, you can disappear anywhere in the civilized world," I told him, pleased with my handiwork. "And you have to be able to vanish. We all do."

"How are you going to manage to vanish with that red flare on top of your head?" he mumbled.

I smiled. In spite of his grumbling, I picked up from his surface thoughts that he was actually rather honored that I'd gone to such lengths for him. "I'll manage because I'll cheat, that's how!" I kissed the side of his head and tugged him toward the door. "Come on, let's show Brad how you look when you're not wanting to kill me."

Nagi grumbled but allowed me to lead him back into the living room.

"Excellent," Brad said in that soft voice that indicated a vision had just played true. "Do the two of you feel up to a little reconnaissance this evening?"

"You're not making me go out in public like this!"

Brad cleared his throat and regarded Nagi sharply. "That was the entire point."

From his spot on the sofa, Farf turned around and looked at us, vaguely amused.

Nagi ducked his head and tried not to be seen.

I threw my arm across his shoulders, staggering him a little and earning a dirty look from those fantastic eyes. "But chibi, you're beautiful!" I teased, leering at him. "And don't you know? This is the fashion for your age group. People won't look twice, not really. They'll see the getup and write you off as just another pretty goth boy. I would bet that even an Esset operative wouldn't recognize you!"

"Precisely, Schuldig." Brad's tone was once again soft and distant. "I want to test that theory."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "Um, Brad? Are you saying that you want him to sneak around an operative? Because, you know, that's just fucking CRAZY!" My voice escalated to a shout.

"Nagi." Brad addressed him directly, ignoring me.

"Hai?" Nagi was respectful, though at the moment he was seething with fear and anger.

"I don't know if there are, in fact, any operatives in the vicinity. I do need you to go out with Schuldig and track how many people take any interest in you, and what sort of interest. If Schuldig is right," he spared me a significant glance, "and I have every reason to believe he is on this one, you won't be remembered for a moment even without his interference. So, if the two of you are up for it, I want you to take a little trip." Brad paused, evidently waiting for some response. At our reluctant nods, he said, "You can take public transportation. I want you to use your resources and find an appropriate setting for Nagi to blend in. See what you can do working in tandem. I don't care how you test it. Come up with something and make it happen without anyone being the wiser."

"What if something goes wrong?" I asked, not sure why I wasn't liking the sound of this.

"It won't," Brad stated, and the discussion was over.

Nagi excused himself to the bathroom. I paced a little, then came back to Brad's side. "Hey, are you sure about this? What about the noise?" I asked. "I know we both hated keeping those restrictions on him, but what if they weren't bullshit?"

Brad regarded me coolly, still in the throes of visions. He blinked, then removed his glasses and looked around for something to clean them with. I took them from him and headed for the kitchen, knowing he'd follow. The man can't stand to be more than a dozen feet from his glasses. I leaned over the sink, letting dish soap and hot water do most of the work for me. The sound of running water effectively masked our discussion, which was fine with me. "So, Brad, what about it? I mean, do you think we still need to?"

"I don't know for certain, Schuldig. But he'll need to get used to it. He'll have a hard time traveling with the restrictions. We need to know which ones we can safely lift. Right now, his headaches are our safety net: if he starts to power up, you'll know before he can do anything. I trust you to bring him back directly if that happens."

I finished cleaning his glasses and dried them on my shirt. He accepted them without a word and started to put them on. Before he could, I leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. I could tell he was a little startled. I smirked. I'd learned long ago that, with his glasses off, nearby things tended to go unnoticed.

Brad sighed and shook his head, setting his glasses back in place. "Schu," he murmured, "this is important. If we can lift the restrictions, even a couple of them, things will be easier for all of us."

"Brad, I know it's important," I told him. "Just because I kissed you doesn't mean I'm taking this lightly. You know me. Sometimes it's all about the stress relief. I'd kiss the dog if we had one."

From the kitchen doorway came a disgusted snort. "Schuldig, kono hentai."

"Love you too, chibi," I cooed, brushing past him to go to my room.

As I quickly changed clothes for our outing, I thought about our youngest teammate, who was also, if Esset were to be believed, our most volatile. We had broken our ties with that organization, but they still had much control over Nagi's life. They had given him to Brad with strict restrictions, supposedly for his and others' safety. Now it looked like we were about to start testing them. Well, Brad knew we'd make it back tonight, so I decided to have a go at it. We'll see if the kid is as fragile as they told us he was. I'd always thought they were full of shit on that point, but Brad had insisted we play by their rules. Now that game was over.

Brad handed each of us some money, and confiscated my gun. "You won't need this." At least he let me keep my cigarettes.

"Ready, kid?"

"Does it matter?" Nagi replied, voice flat.

"Good hunting," Brad told me. "Keep it real."

I nodded and led Nagi out of the apartment.

A/N:

_leave me alone – make it easy for yourself_

"Leave Me Alone", CXS _Mystery_. Nagi is a beautiful boy who does not want to be seen as beautiful. In Rosenkreuz, the beautiful ones are the most sought-after, and you can imagine what he might have endured there, whenever Brad and Schu were not able to protect him. (A particular bow to Minerva Solo, here. Similar things happened in my world, with similar results, though the reasons behind those events are quite different. They might be addressed in a side story; I'll let you know.) The universal appeal of lovely youths to heinous predators is another archetype that has found its way into the fanon, limited not by the morality of the writer but by their most cynical imaginings.

Translation notes –

_Schuldig, kono hentai._ – Schuldig, you pervert. (Kissing the dog? Can you say "squick"?)

_Mou!_ – Enough!

Review Mailbag!:

Thanks again to everyone who's staying on for the ride. We've got a ways to go, and it's going to get pretty bumpy. For more in-depth updates on this and other projects, please visit my live journal – there's more room to talk there.

**_may_** – oh, there are many reasons Crawford didn't want Schuldig to wander around at night…you don't think he has a jealous streak, do you? Nah, not Brad Crawford… – And thank you, I thought the park was a totally Yo-tan sort of thing. And, as far as disguising Nagi as a girl, see my comment to chibi-nezumi.

**_chibi-nezumi_** – Nah, he's too antisocial to be Shindo. Wednesday Addams, maybe…

**_little-wicked_** – thank you!

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – whooo, flowers! Yep, Schu is sadistic and nasty, deserving of the title Hentai-sama. – And, Crawford didn't change at random, there are reasons behind reasons for everything he does. I wouldn't want to be a precog myself for anything… oO Wiggy Farf? Foreshadowing? Moi? x My lips are sealed.

**_Lestat_** – yeah, Brad looks pretty good with a mustache, ne?

**_Yanagi-sen_** – yep, my Farf is still creepy as hell. He's the most dangerous kind of madman: one who is capable of logic and can appear totally rational. There are times I wonder if he's the sanest of the four…but if he is, who's the most crazy? As for Schu's disguise plans, if he can just get Nagi to hold still next time… –


	27. 27

**27**

_and I don't want to be part of your world_

_and I don't want to see the things you see…_

Since finding that little bar the other night, I had a pretty good idea where we were in relation to the rest of Tokyo and its outlying areas. Finding the places kids go would not be too difficult. Good hunting, is it? I grinned, grateful for the practice.

Nagi read the street signs and placed himself on the map with ease. I kept a light mental touch on his thoughts, trying to strengthen our team bond without hurting him. The moment he recognized where we were, it was like a circuit switching on: he started remembering streets and bus lines, and got us to the next bus eastbound with time to spare. The few people waiting to board looked at him curiously and with some discomfort; they judged him a troublemaker. Good. They'd keep their distance, then. I made certain they didn't notice me at all.

On the bus, I counted the other passengers. Ten, a mixed crowd. With extreme caution I touched their minds one by one. No psi talents, no hidden reasons for being there. Just people on a bus, which was how they perceived Nagi, as well. So far so good.

::Where do we go next?:: Nagi asked.

::There's a club not far from here. We'll get off at the next stop and walk the rest of the way.:: He didn't seem happy about the club part, but didn't argue. Again I found myself wondering if the restrictions on the kid had been for nothing, if we could finally give him a more normal life now.

::With you around, nothing is normal,:: Nagi shot back. ::Schuldig, are you going to keep babbling at me, or are we getting off this bus?::

God damn. I really had to get that leakage problem under control. ::Yeah, get off here.:: I followed him to the sidewalk, then took the lead. I let my telepathy sweep out ahead of us and fan around behind like wind around a wing. People, oh people, beautiful, maddening, intoxicating people. The nighttime people were a different breed from the daylight souls. These were my people.

::Schu?::

I brought myself back to my own head and realized I had nearly been dancing as I walked. ::Sorry, kiddo, got a little carried away.:: A little? Well, basically. It reminded me of those chaotic months when my gift had flared into full, mind-bending life. An early puberty combined with the pressures of Rosenkreuz and bang! The inrush of other minds had given me an incredible high, at least until my own mind had threatened to dissolve under the onslaught. ::I'm okay, Nagi. Really.::

::Of course you are. Aren't you supposed to be invisible?:: He regarded me with a slightly raised eyebrow, and I realized that some of the passersby had noticed the tall red-haired gaijin who really didn't want to be seen just then. I sent them the image that I was actually a brown haired tourist sort trying to proposition a local bishounen. The less I have to change, the easier it is to influence people's minds. Brown hair is a simple shift from red, especially under street lights. Mildly scandalized, they promptly ignored the two of us.

::Better, chibi?::

Nagi glared at me. ::Great. Now they think I'm a prostitute.::

I led him to a club I remembered seeing, a place frequented by vampire wanna-bes and other fashionable misfits. If they accepted him, the disguise was flawless. There was always the chance they would sense he wasn't quite the same as they; it was a chance we had to take. I grinned to myself; I was thinking about Nagi as though he were an animal we were trying to return to the wild.

::Does it never end?:: Nagi's mental voice came through, dry and biting as a cheap martini.

My good humor did not flag. In fact, at the moment, damn near everything was funny. I knew I was courting disaster, opening myself up like this, but damn it felt good! This was what I was made to do, to ride the tide of thought from one mind to another, feeling whispers of emotion and eavesdropping on the secrets of their hearts. My mind whirred and spun, dizzy with the input; my body craved movement to balance the motion of my thoughts. As Nagi paid the club's entrance fee, I showed the doorman a valid ID in Nagi's empty palm, then followed the boy in unseen.

Nagi stopped just inside the door, panic rising. I cast about for its source, then realized it was just Nagi's reaction to the differentness of this place. Fast rhythmic music surrounded us, permeated us; I could feel it pulling my heart to join it, and all I wanted was to lose myself in the sound. All around us, beautiful youth rejoiced in itself. Some of the dancers were stoned, but not as many as I had expected. Most were just caught in the music, high on themselves.

But Nagi was not thrilled or moved to dance. He stood like a deer caught in headlights, his pulse fluttering in his throat. ::Schuldig,:: his mind whispered, ::get me out of here.::

::It's all right, chibi, you're safe with me,:: I told him, moving closer and gripping his arm firmly. ::We won't stay long. Just try to relax, nothing here will hurt you.::

::It's…loud.:: Beneath that, the thought _::I mustn't::_ echoed with old pain.

I looked into his eyes and forced my will on his, carefully so as not to hurt him, but without allowing for argument. ::Nagi, trust me.::

He gave me a blank nod, for the moment forgetting his fear. I put my hand on his back, more to ground myself than to give him comfort. If this place was freaking him out, I didn't dare lose myself, no matter how badly I longed to do just that. It had been so long since I'd danced…

I didn't realize that the music had pulled me in again until I felt Nagi relax against my hand. Through our team link, I had given him an almost hypnotic dose of rhythm and joy, and he was almost starting to like it. Carefully, not wanting to break this moment, I steered him into the crowd. Dancing was out of the question, but I wanted him to make one circuit of the room, just to show him that he could do it. The minds around us were quite willing to be manipulated, and so the dancers only saw one lovely goth boy, vaguely familiar in the way all fringe dwellers seem to be. They took no notice of the red-haired young man in black leather and a grey linen shirt, one hand on the goth boy's shoulder.

One circuit was his limit, but it was enough. By the time we approached the door, the fear had started rising in him again, and I knew I couldn't wrestle it down until we'd gone. We exited without notice, the music a lingering seduction in my head.

Nagi made his way to the bus stop and dropped to the bench. For a moment I thought he was hyperventilating, but then he took a deep breath and looked up at me. "Are we done for the night?"

I looked around. We seemed to have the street to ourselves. "Yeah, guess we are, kid. Can I get you to come back here sometime? Maybe you could relax enough to enjoy it some."

"Schuldig, I'm not like you. I don't dance, I don't want to dance, I've never danced in my life. And that music was weird." Nagi tilted his head back, looking for stars. Street lights glowed off low-hanging clouds, hiding the greater sky from him. I felt his frustration adding to my own, though the two were of keenly different sorts.

"Kiddo," I said, sitting beside him, "music won't hurt you. I think they lied to us about that."

"How can you be sure?" He turned to glare at me, fear and disgust mingled in his night-dark eyes. "They said I'd lose control, I could kill people, tear buildings down. You know I can do it. You've seen what happens."

"I know, but that wasn't from music, or any of those things. You were sad, you were angry, you'd just lost someone --" I tried to stop my mouth but too late.

"Shut up. I don't want to talk about it."

"Nagi…"

"I mean it, Schuldig."

In silence, we waited for the bus. In silence, boarded. I didn't even try mental speech: he had his shields up to the full. We returned to the apartment, him in silent anger and me keeping us both unseen.

Brad greeted us at the door. Nagi strode around him and into his bedroom, shutting his door with quiet determination. I sighed and pushed the apartment door closed.

"Should I even ask?" Brad inquired, watching me intently.

"It went fine," I murmured. "Until Nagi pointed out that the club music wasn't on his allowed list. He panicked a little. I managed to hold him together, walk him around some and let the locals get a look at him. He passed without a hitch. I think it'll hold up anywhere we go, if we can just get him used to the idea."

"He's been living under their restrictions all this time," Brad reminded me needlessly. "It's not surprising that he's a little scared."

"Brad, he's supposed to be free now! We all are! What's the point if he has to go on living like some lab animal? You know those restrictions are bogus!"

"Keep it down, Schu," Brad growled, his own agitation seeking a target. "You'll wake Farfarello. Besides, I'm not ready to discuss this with Nagi, and he'll hear you if you're not careful."

"Too late, Crawford," Nagi stated from his doorway, "his voice travels."

I mouthed the words _Oh, shit._ Crawford glared at me. I wasn't ready for this, not from him, not tonight. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to regain some composure before the fight began in earnest. Brad was right, Nagi shouldn't be in on this discussion until we had a better idea what to do for him. It would just make him upset, and he didn't need that. But I couldn't manage to keep my mouth shut, and Nagi had heard the lab animal comment, and I was about to be in deep shit from one if not both of them.

"To hell with that, Schuldig," Nagi snarled at me, "you're just as scared of me as they were. I'm a lab rat, is that it? Something they were trying to perfect, take what nature gave them and make it stronger? You don't want to help me, you're just curious about what would happen if the safety locks came off."

"Nagi, that's enough," Crawford started, turning toward the angry boy.

"Crawford, you know that's it! He's just curious, just like they were. I like my restrictions, okay? I like feeling safe, damn it! Can't you just leave me alone?" Nagi shook with emotion, angry tears streaking through his eye makeup like black rain.

"Nagi. That's _enough_."

The boy sort of hiccupped and fought down his reaction, forcing himself to a semblance of calm. "Hai, Crawford-san."

"Clean up and go to bed." Crawford's tone was sharp, but not enough to wound. He watched the boy duck into the bathroom. Then he turned to me. "That was incredibly stupid, Schuldig. Do you know how much he does and does not know of their conclusions about him? Do you have any idea?"

"Don't," I told him. "Just don't." I was still a little high, a little irrational. This was not a good time to discuss anything. My anger reflex was a little too tightly strung at the moment and I could feel it wanting to snap.

"Schuldig, the lab animal comment was a bad thing. You know that, right?" Crawford glared, daring me to contradict him. "You know he thinks the restrictions are the only thing keeping him from losing control of his power and killing us all."

"But they're not! Esset lied, Brad! They lied to us, they lied to Nagi, they--"

Not a fist, but the flat of his palm struck my cheek with the sound of a whipcrack. The fist would have hurt less: I could strike back if he punched me, if I were still standing, anyway. But this was humiliating. I was right, damn it! We both knew it. I took a shuddering breath, choked down the fury and hissed, "Why?"

"Right now, Nagi's world is being tipped on edge. If they were wrong or if they lied, nothing will happen. But if they were right, and if they were telling the truth, then Nagi is correct in seeing all our lives in peril. I respect that boy enough to give him time to deal with it. You and I both know, Schuldig, that he is more powerful than any other telekinetic ever before seen at Rosenkreuz. There is a chance that he is the strongest that has ever been. You also know, perhaps even more deeply than I do, that the only thing that truly frightens him is his own gift." Crawford watched my face as I listened. He must have seen something that satisfied him, because he turned away suddenly and said, "Leave him alone for now. You'll only make things worse."

A thousand words begged to be said, a thousand insults and barbed comebacks and angry retorts. I'll only make things worse? What the hell?

Before I could say any of them, I saw his back stiffen and he cleared his throat, addressing me without looking at me. "If you can't stop projecting, Schuldig, I suggest you find a spot in the apartment far enough away from Nagi and from me so we can all get some sleep. And learn to think before you talk. That mouth of yours will keep getting you in trouble if you don't."

"Fuck this." I turned and headed back to the door. "The team is falling apart, Crawford. I tried, I did my best, but you think you can treat me like shit now and I won't stand for it. We survived, damn it, and we're free, and now we're stuck in Brad Crawford's own designer hell. Fuck that."

"Schuldig." Crawford's voice sounded strained.

I paused, door ajar.

Brad paused, too. Then, "Be safe."

I fled into the night.

A/N:

_and I don't want to be part of your world _

_and I don't want to see the things you see…_

Continuing from the previous chapter. A reflection of Nagi off the mirror that is Schuldig. Though for all Nagi's scorn, on some level he truly seems to envy Schuldig's ease at living, the way he pours himself into a crowd and floats upon their thoughts and dreams. Nagi does not like people, nor does he trust them, but he sees how Schu craves human contact and, just maybe, wishes it for himself some day.

Translation notes –

_bishounen_ – pretty boy

Note from author:

I now have a mailing list group for all those wanting to know what I am working on and when stories will be updated. It is sort of my "fan club" run by my biggest fan MonkeyCat (in fact, it was her idea to start the group). I think she's stalking me. Anyway, please join and get the lastest updates by email so you are not searching for my new chapters here in vain. I have seen many other authors do this and I think that it works out fantastically for their fans. Please see my profile for the web address.

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Thank you all for reading!! More to come! I promise!

GuiltyRed


	28. 28

**28**

_the wind in my hair makes me so aware how good it is to live tonight  
and I haven't felt so alive in years_

I walked quickly, not caring where I ended up, or if I even found a destination. Anger propelled me, pushing out from the apartment where Brad and Nagi were probably cursing my name in their sleep. If the fighting or overall hostility woke Far, he was probably mad at me too, by now. Blame me, I'm the guilty one. Ah, hell.

Something in my pocket poked me. I grumbled as I reached down to identify the offending item. My hand came back with a matchbook, the corner creased into a sharp point. For a moment I couldn't think of how it had come to be in my pocket, then I remembered: Yohji had given it to me. He had written something on it and given it to me, and I had stuffed it in my pocket and forgotten about it. Weird how all thoughts of him could vanish upon my return to the apartment, just like all thoughts of Crawford had vanished at the bar. I sighed and read the hasty writing. It was an address.

For a moment I thought about it. Then I shook my head and scolded myself. It was late, nearly midnight. If he was home, and awake, he probably wasn't alone. I stuffed the matchbook back in my pocket and continued walking, my feet knowing where to go but not telling me just yet. Then I looked up, and across the street hung that shabby sign advertising a little dive of a bar. I felt myself smile. Not damn likely, but the booze was still cheap.

I strode in like I owned the place. No one saw me, no one noticed a damn thing. My shields may not keep my thoughts from leaking out, but they sure as hell kept me invisible. I made a beeline for the bar.

He wasn't there. Not that I'd expected or even hoped, but that didn't stop the little grind of disappointment. I flagged the bartender and ordered a double shot of Chivas, neat. Before I could get too drunk to remember, I tossed some money on the bar and settled down to drink the night away.

A chill ran down my spine as I realized that I was not alone. I dropped from the barstool and whipped around to face…Yohji!

"Whoa! Hey, didn't mean to startle you," Kudou drawled, much calmer than he should have been under the circumstances. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, and his eyes laughed at me. "I saw you come in here, thought I'd say hello. You busy?"

I eased myself back onto the barstool, trying to look casual about it. "No, I'm not busy. Just needed a drink or twenty, if that makes sense." I picked up my glass and toasted with it, then downed half.

Yohji regarded me with those cool jade eyes, then said, "You know, sometimes when I'm having a night like that, I go driving. The wind helps blow all the fog away. You want to try it?"

I thought about it. Did I want to go with this man to god-knows-where in the middle of the night? Hell yes. I sure the fuck couldn't go back to the apartment. And, at the moment, I wasn't really certain I wanted to go back at all. The team bond and occasional affection didn't seem enough to balance the massive egos involved, or the violence that bubbled just below the surface. In that, I was just as much to blame as Crawford. Everything touched by Rosenkreuz came out tainted. Everything.

"I'd love to." I finished my drink and followed him out the door.

He sauntered over to a low-slung green monstrosity of a convertible, gazing at it as if it were his girlfriend. I felt myself blink. Somehow I had imagined a Lamborghini or maybe a Ferrari. Something sleek and feral, like the sweet little Italian import I used to have. Sex on wheels.

This car looked, well, British.

"You can hop the door if you like, but I'm not coming around to open it for you," Yohji told me as he slid in behind the wheel and donned his tinted shades.

It amazed me that such a tall guy could fit into a car like this. It didn't seem possible. I got in and settled into a surprisingly comfortable leather bucket seat, off-white and smelling vaguely of old perfume.

"Never been in a Caterham Seven before, have you?" he asked as he turned the key in the ignition.

"No, actually, I haven't," I admitted, listening to a rather satisfying roar from the engine. This might not be half bad, I thought, strapping myself in.

"Some people like to buy these as kit cars," he told me, "but this baby I bought whole, just like you see her." He started rattling off a list of specs, and I tuned him out a little. I like cars, but my interest only goes to the comfort of the interior, the quality of the sound, and the ability to go very very fast. Everything else is for mechanics.

"So," he called over the wind as we pulled onto a main road, "you want to see what she can do?"

I smirked. "Show me, Weiß."

"Hang on to your ass, Schwarz." He pulled onto the freeway and floored it.

The seat molded itself around my back, holding me still as we raced into the night. Damn, this was almost as good as sex! I looked at Yohji, his hands firm upon the wheel, his face serene as he concentrated on piloting the little green road rocket. From his surface thoughts I picked up that this was quite possibly one of the fastest cars on the whole damn island. Right then, I was inclined to believe him.

I shook my hair free from my shirt collar; it trailed out behind me like a comet. The wind, made cold by our speed, stung my eyes to watering and stole my breath away. It felt like flying. To my left, the scenery blurred past, neon and chrome giving way to street lights and houses. From all around came the soft cacophony of nighttime thoughts, but none stayed in range long enough to catch my attention. It was like spinning the dial on an old radio: an oddly soothing mosaic of life, with none loud enough to offend.

Yohji drove up to a hilly area overlooking the city. Around us, traffic thinned to nothing. So did the mental babble, or nearly to nothing, anyway. Raising his voice a little Yohji said to me, "I like to come up here to get away from everything. It's pretty secluded."

"Thanks, man," I murmured, barely audible over the engine.

Yohji pulled off the road and eased the car along a little path, then coasted to a stop near a stand of trees. He cut the engine, tilted his seat back, and reached for his cigarettes. When one was lit and firmly planted in his mouth, he relaxed in his seat, looked up at the sky and said, "So, talk."

Talk? Hell, I hadn't had a confidante since Karl. Suddenly I wasn't sure I knew what to do with one anymore. I groped for a cigarette and my lighter, savored the first drag, watched the smoke float away on the breeze. Now that I was really here, I had no idea what to say.

Yohji watched me out of the corner of his eye, then said, "You sure seem like a guy who needs a good listener. It's okay, Schuldig. I'm unemployed, remember? Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either. Not anymore."

I sighed. Above us, the stars glowed as steady as forever. I gave a bitter little laugh and told him, "I guess I just don't know where to start, that's all."

"Okay, so let me start. What are you running from?"

Damn! Hopefully he hadn't noticed my reaction. I'd gasped a little before covering it with the cigarette. "Who said I was running?"

Yohji regarded me with sharp, intelligent eyes, peering over his driving glasses before reaching up to take them off. "You act like a guy who's fighting with his wife," he said casually. "I've seen enough of them to know. Someone at home is making your life hell right now, and all you want is to get away from it. Come on, you were ready to buy the whole damn bar."

I laughed. "You're still a detective, aren't you. I guess it's not the sort of thing you can just stop doing, is it?"

"So tell me I'm wrong."

I swallowed hard. "You're not wrong, no. Not a wife, though. Obviously."

Yohji looked into my eyes and said, "And here I was, all that time thinking you were a cold-hearted bastard." He reached down behind his seat, brought up a couple cans of coffee and handed me one. "So who's got you so miserable?"

Mentally I flipped a coin. It landed on edge. I hoped I wasn't making a huge mistake, but if I didn't talk to someone, I was going to go crazy. And I was about out of options on who that someone might be. I took a deep breath and said, "Crawford. The man is driving me insane. He's calm and cool one minute, then duct taping the windows shut the next."

"Duct tape? Hentai!" he said with a grin.

That caught me by surprise, and I laughed a little. "I wish!" I teased. "No, but really, he says our lives are in danger, that we're kind of on a hit list." I wasn't sure just how much I wanted to tell him, but the basics probably wouldn't hurt. "We've been living incognito since the tower, hiding out, moving from place to place. Crawford says that it's going to get worse, and soon. That the goon squad is on its way, so to speak. Thing is…"

"You think he's wrong."

I nodded, relieved that I didn't have to say it. "Yeah, I do. We've all been through enough to drive anyone over the edge, and Brad's been having mood swings and shit." My hand moved to my cheek, where he'd struck me. Tears stung my eyes.

"That's his name? Brad?"

"Yeah, Brad Crawford. He was our team leader. _Is_ our leader," I amended quickly.

"Oh, right. He's American, isn't he? I thought I'd heard that somewhere. So Crawford is his family name." Yohji took a pull on his cigarette, then a swig of coffee. "So, Schuldig: is that your given name or your family name? I'd hate to be too familiar, you know."

I looked down, not sure how the hell to answer. "It's okay," I muttered, "I said you could call me that."

He glanced over, then nodded slowly. "Oh, it's your alias. That's cool. Back in the day, they called me Balinese. But you already knew that," he added with a wink. "Sorry about the interruption. You were telling me how your leader is driving you to drink. I know how that can go."

"Do you?"

"Long story," he murmured, staring at the glowing tip of his cigarette. "You said Crawford gets mood swings. So does Aya. Some days…" He broke off, shaking his head. "He can be such a princess, sometimes."

I snorted a laugh and said, "Well, in my case, I'd be the princess. Brad's more like the dark wizard or something. He's got us living under stricter rules than ever, telling me that the least little slip will invite disaster."

"Will it?"

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Who knows? I can't see the future."

"What can you do?" he asked, voice low.

Slowly I opened my eyes, turning my head to look at him. "Beg pardon?"

"Look, the kid throws things around without touching them. You've hinted that Crawford knows what's going to happen before it does, and from what I've seen of him fighting, it's true." Yohji watched me closely as he repeated, "So what can you do?"

Instinctively I reached out to his mind, to see if this was a trap. So help me, if it was, Kudou would die right there in the driver's seat. But I found no duplicity, only a sincere curiosity and a desire to help a friend. Me. Already he considered me a friend. And he wanted to help.

"Hey, what the hell is that?" Yohji whispered. "What are you doing to me?" He glared at me a moment, a little frightened, but then he relaxed and leaned back in his seat again, smiling to himself. "Okay, I get it. That's what your edge was. How you kept us guessing. You read minds, don't you?"

It wasn't possible, there's no way he could have felt me in his head! I sat there, in the middle of the night, in the off-white leather bucket seat of a green English roadster, gaping like an idiot. My cigarette had burned down low enough to scorch my fingers, so I started to flick it away when I remembered what Brad had said about that. With a scowl I flung the cigarette butt as far as I could, then turned my attention back to Yohji.

He sat there, satisfied in his deductions but not arrogant about it.

Time to put up or shut up. "I'm impressed," I said, bowing a little. "Three for three. Did the others figure us out too, or just you?"

"Don't know. Don't care, really," he stated with a shrug. "I guess I just can't resist a good mystery."

Something about this comment, about his whole manner, made me realize just how absurd my situation really was. Situation? Hell, my whole life was absurd, a nasty little comedy written by a chimp who thought he was doing Shakespeare. I snorted, then snickered, before escalating into full-throated laughter. My eyes teared up and my breath caught in my chest, but I couldn't stop. Knowing that by this time Brad would have slapped me to end the hysteria only made it worse, as Yohji merely watched me like this was the high point of his week.

And suddenly I didn't feel like an Esset operative, a psionic assassin, a member of Schwarz, or anything at all other than a person: a genuine, laughing-his-head-off human being. Clean nighttime air flooded me, washing away years of accumulated grime. Slowly the laughter trailed off, leaving behind a fresh, new feeling that was better than being high. I took a deep breath, let it out slow and even. I followed that with a few swallows of canned coffee.

Beside me, Yohji only said, "Feel better now?"

I nodded, not yet trusting my voice. We sat their in a pleasant silence, watching the moon sink lower in the sky. When the two cans of coffee I'd polished off demanded it, I excused myself, not quite thrilled at the prospect of pissing in the woods like a wild animal but having no other option. Unlike the park, this place wasn't designed with humans in mind. The air seemed cooler under the trees, and that combined with the humble act I was in the middle of brought my mind back into sharp focus. Did I really intend to tell this virtual stranger all my problems? Worse than a stranger, even. We had been enemies, once.

Or had we? It occurred to me that the only time Weiß had seemed directly interested in any of my team had been when Farfarello had been rampaging around torturing the pious. They'd been sent after him, but the team itself never seemed to be their target. Interesting.

I returned to the car, reluctant to sit down again just yet. I braced my hands on the door and stretched my back, sighing as everything seemed to fall into place. Looking up at Yohji, I decided to trust my gut for once in my life, and my gut said this guy was all right. "Man, it is so good to have someone to just talk to, to vent to, you know?" I told him with a smile. "You were so right when you said I needed that. I did. I do. It's damn near impossible to talk like that with Brad, or the other two. I mean, Nagi just doesn't get it. And besides, he's pissed off at me anyway now. And Far isn't always coherent."

"Far, as in Farfarello? That would be Jei, right?" Yohji asked, sounding like a detective again.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't call him that to his face. He gets really sensitive about his past, treats it like a whole different person. Damn, if you're not the most observant bastard I've ever met, you're well in the top two! You're having way too much fun with this," I scolded.

Yohji grinned around his cigarette and shrugged. "What can I say? Can't help it, really. I've been into crime all my life. I mean I read crime dramas and mysteries a lot," he corrected smoothly. "It's my passion. Well, not really, but it is a hobby." He handed me another coffee. "That's why I became a detective. I like solving mysteries. My mind won't let it go, it'll just keep working at it until I have it figured out." He regarded me curiously and asked, "Is it like that with your mind reading, Schuldig? I mean, does it stay on all the time, or can you turn it off?"

I decided it couldn't hurt to explain it to him a little, and it might help me figure out why it wasn't working right lately. "It's like tuning in to different radio stations, and turning the volume up or down," I told him. "Basically that's it. Things can affect it, like if I was sick or exhausted, I might have either extreme: too loud, or no sound at all. I got hit in the head when the tower broke apart. Still having some problems from that, but it'll mend. It always does, right?"

Yohji looked away, his jaw set in a tense line. Before I could ask, he murmured, "I almost drowned. Still have nightmares about it. You and I were fighting, and I had my wire out when we fell. I got tangled up in it. It snagged on a chunk of debris, and I couldn't get at the release catch." He took a long drag on his cigarette, the hand holding it uncannily steady. "Last thing I saw before I blacked out was Aya swimming toward me, or falling, I wasn't sure. He had that long coat on, like me. Part of me thought he was already dead."

"God, Yohji," I whispered, easing back down into the car seat. I wasn't sure why, but I felt the need to be closer to him. I understood recurring nightmares, and the horrors that bring them on. I knew too well that sometimes fear of death is more terrible than the release of death itself.

Still looking away from me he went on. "Aya was floating down toward me, coat flowing around him like wings, black wings." He blinked rapidly as if holding back tears. "There was this greenish glow everywhere. Then I passed out."

Yohji was so dismayed, his thoughts intruded on my weak shields. I saw his panic, the wire tying him to a seven-ton anchor that had settled maddeningly close to the surface. I saw the glow, and a black angel with a sword, and…a woman? I felt myself scowl even as Yohji said, "You're doing it again, aren't you?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Your thoughts were really loud just then."

"Thoughts can be loud? Even though I can't do what you do, I can still make you hear me?" he asked, glancing my way. His eyes looked haunted and a little bloodshot.

"You don't have to be a telepath to shout at one, no," I told him, trying to smile a little.

"Hn." He sucked at his cigarette.

I wasn't sure what to say now. When I'd seen them on the beach, I hadn't even thought about what they must have gone through. Now I recalled the smallest one crawling to the others, back twisted and legs unmoving. Again I saw Yohji lying in the sand, wire trailing from around his neck and the swordsman unconscious at his feet.

"Hey," I prompted, wanting to get him talking again. Anything would be better than this eerie silence.

"Yeah?"

"You're alive, man. Don't forget that. No matter how close it was, you made it." I gave him a small smile.

Yohji nodded distantly. "I know." He took a deep breath, then looked back at me. "I know, Schuldig. It's been a hard couple of months, though. Guess I'm still kind of in shock from it all."

"I hear that," I murmured, sipping some coffee.

"Hey, Schuldig? Do you know how we survived that?" he asked. "Because we sure as hell couldn't figure it out. By all rights, we should be dead."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Brad had said the same thing. I felt suddenly small and exposed, there on the hilltop with no cover from the heavens. It was as if we had defied God, cheated Fate, and were all waiting for some inevitable retribution. Voice low, I replied, "No, I don't know. But I believe it was Nagi. He didn't want us to die, so he found a way to get us all to shore, alive. He couldn't tell who was who, so he had to pull everyone. Good thing the old guy was already cold." This last came out as a whisper. It only just occurred to me how bad things would have been if that had not been the case. Washing up on shore with a dead Elder was bad enough, but if he had still been alive…

"So basically the same thing that made a crater of Masafumi's house," Yohji stated, working it out as he went, "could be used to pull us out of the water and land us on the beach? Damn. Is it just because I don't know anything about this kind of stuff, or is that kid, like, super powerful? Like something out of a halfway decent manga?"

I groped for a cigarette, then discovered the pack was, again, empty. Damn it! I had to start rationing the damn things, or remember to only leave the apartment with a full pack!

Yohji had just lit another one for himself. Seeing my distress, he said, "Here, take this," and handed it to me, then replaced it before throwing the fading remnants of the last one overboard.

Again I found the taste harsh and acrid, but addicts can't be too choosy. Besides, it was buying me time to come up with an answer.

To fill the silence, Yohji observed, "Then again, I guess we all could be characters from manga, couldn't we? I mean, our lives have certainly been bizarre enough, no one would believe it was really true."

I chuckled. "Good point. They do say truth is stranger than fiction, right?"

"Yeah, but we're strange to the point of being surreal!"

"To being surreal, then," I toasted, raising my can of coffee.

"To being surreal," he echoed, taking a long drink.

"But, yeah," I told him, "you could say Nagi's that powerful. To be honest, the kid's never been charted. They couldn't measure him."

"'They'? Which 'they'?" Yohji asked, curious again.

"Rosenkreuz. Esset's own answer to a special school for psi talented kids," I muttered.

"I take it they didn't have an ethical bald man in a wheelchair running the show," Yohji said with a straight face.

"No," I laughed, shaking my head and grinning, "they did not. If there were such a place really, I wish they had found us first. As far as I know, the only psi-training facility in the world is Rosenkreuz, in the heart of der Vaterland. Or the bowels, more likely. But Nagi kind of baffled them. They couldn't measure his ability." He looked a little confused, so I added, "In other words, they never found a limit to what he can do."

Yohji chewed on that for a couple of minutes, drinking coffee and smoking. Then, like I had done earlier, he excused himself and made for the trees. I wondered if he was pondering our conversation while he peed.

When he returned to the car, he looked thoughtful, so I figured I'd been right about the pondering. "So, do you guys know what he can do? You probably know more about him than they did, right? You guys seem pretty tight."

"We are," I said softly, feeling that we were entering dangerous territory. "But frankly, we don't know any more about his limits than they did. They gave him to Brad with a list of restrictions, things to keep his power constrained. They said he could lose control of it and hurt us if we didn't follow their orders about him."

"You mean he's like one of those creepy weird animals from a back-alley pet store," he teased, "the kind that can't get wet or eat after midnight, or all hell breaks loose?"

I frowned a little, not familiar with his reference. Then I touched his thoughts and it made sense enough to startle a laugh out of me. "Actually, that's pretty damn close," I told him. "The hell of it is, he can't just be a kid. They've got him convinced that any strong emotion will send him into a power surge, that he'd end up killing us. He's been living like a prisoner, or like a monk, ever since Brad brought him to Germany. He's a kid, for Christ's sake! A kid who can't eat candy."

"I'm not sure I follow," Yohji admitted, giving me a quizzical look.

"To keep Nagi safe, we had to keep him calm, keep him away from certain things. Things like sugar, caffeine, fast food, loud music, television, exciting movies --"

"No way!" Yohji exclaimed.

"Oh, it gets worse," I said, helpless anger rising in me. "He's a fucking teenager who's not even allowed to masturbate, for fear he'll blow up the damn building." I glared at him, daring him to laugh.

But Yohji didn't laugh. His face became somber and he lowered his eyes. "It's like they want to control him from a distance, keep him in line on their terms. Like they didn't really trust Crawford to do it right. Or maybe they wanted an agent of their own within your team. Someone who believed he owed them his life."

I blinked, the anger draining away as fast as it had risen. I hadn't really looked at it like that before. The idea chilled me. "God. They would, too. Just to prove they could."

We sat there in silence for a while, watching smoke curl from our cigarettes; then he said, "What are you going to do for him?"

"I want to prove to him and to Crawford that those restrictions were a pack of lies," I stated, my voice strong and sure. "I want that kid to have a normal life. Or as normal as it gets, anyway, considering that our lives are pretty much manga fodder. We've already broken away from Esset. I won't make that kid live under their bullshit rules."

Yohji nodded thoughtfully. "You did say he was pissed at you. Let me guess, you rushed him. You pushed the issue when he wasn't ready. If he believed what they said, which you told me he did, then those restrictions are the only safety net he has, and you probably just tried to yank it out from under him." He glanced at me, then added, "Don't get mad at me, Schuldig. I know an impulsive hot-head when I see one, and that kid's situation gets your temper up."

Forcing down the surge of anger, I chewed on his observations for a while. He was right: I had rushed things. Nagi had said as much. "Damn."

"That's probably why Crawford hit you tonight, isn't it." He didn't look at me when he said this, leaving me some degree of privacy.

I sighed and tossed another spent cigarette over the door.

Now he looked at me, mild humor in his jade eyes. "I told you I was a detective."

"I thought you said you were a crappy one," I grumbled.

"I'm hurt," he lied. "Feel better now?"

I chuckled. "Right, so you got me. Yeah, I feel better, Weiß. Nothing like having your painful secrets guessed by a near stranger."

"Look, it's obvious how much you care about that kid," Yohji said, voice gentle. "You and Crawford both. From what you've told me, you're both ready to do whatever it takes to keep that kid alive and well, even if he's miserable. Even if he's in a cage. But on some level, you know that's wrong, and it's tearing you up. You've got this idea that he's either a prisoner or totally free, you can't find a middle ground for it."

"How can there be middle ground?" I asked, voice a little harsh. "Either we keep him on all the restrictions, or we show him they're not necessary."

"Schuldig, have you stopped to consider that, just maybe, you can take them off one at a time? Let the kid get used to the idea." He gave me an intense look and said, "Did you know, a lot of hostages and war prisoners get agoraphobia when they do get to go home? They're so used to living in captivity that the sudden rush of freedom scares the hell out of them. And, if strong emotions bring on these power surges, I don't think you should go scaring the hell out of him. Do you?"

My eyes squeezed shut. I didn't want to admit he was probably right, but I couldn't deny it, either. "So basically we should leave things as they are, and maybe start small, is that it?"

"Definitely. Pick one thing that he won't fight too much." He cocked his head then, frowning seriously. "Or pick one that's most likely to be broken by accident, if you have to go into hiding for real. Something you have the least control over. Get him used to the change slowly, if you have the time, or keep him distracted if you don't."

I looked at him, quite impressed with his reasoning. "Damn, Yohji, that was good. Thanks. I was trying to pick one that would make him happy if it went away. Get him some real music in his life, for starters. Sweets and caffeine upset his stomach, anyway, and I'm not about to get into sex with him. Which one would you work on first?"

He thought about this, gazing up at the sky. Following his gaze, I saw a faint streak of green flash by as a piece of stardust fell through the atmosphere. "Wish I may," he whispered, then turned his attention back to me. "Well, if you're hiding out, I'd think that bland food would be a luxury. I mean, you'll have to eat what you can safely get, right? You might not have time to cook for yourselves." Yohji paused to sip some coffee, then went on. "You'll need to address the sex issue sometime, you know. It'll happen in his sleep if he's not doing anything awake. We're just built like that. If he's scared of it, it'll be that much worse."

I sighed. "Yeah, I kind of figured we'd have to talk about that. I'm not looking forward to it."

"Make Crawford do it." He looked at me, totally serious.

I nearly choked on my coffee.

"No, really!" he said. "You talk like you're kind of his parent figures, right? Well, if one can't do it, the other has to. So make Crawford have 'the talk' with Nagi. If nothing else, it should keep you entertained, na?"

The thought of that conversation made me laugh out loud, an inelegant, startled guffaw of a laugh. "You're crazy! I can't tell Crawford to do a damn thing!"

"If he loves the kid as much as you do," Yohji stated confidently, "he'll talk to him about it."

"Damn, there you go being a detective again. Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yeah. It is now, anyway. You wouldn't be here talking with me if you didn't give a damn about your teammates, Schuldig. You'd just leave them." He regarded me with a steady gaze.

Something he'd said before came back to me, and I asked him, "What about you? What about Weiß, Yohji?"

He scowled and said, "I told you. Weiß disbanded."

"But it hurts you, doesn't it?" I ventured, trying to play detective on him for once. "You wish it hadn't happened like that. You still care, too, Yohji." Suddenly I understood, and in a quiet voice I added, "I just have a little more at stake, that's all."

He looked at me, his quick anger fading as quickly into sadness. He swallowed, then said, "Yeah, it hurts. But we can't go back. It can't ever be the same. Ken would be right there with me, but Omi… And Aya…" His voice trailed off.

I found myself reaching out to touch his shoulder, to offer what sympathy I could. I understood his pain. Schwarz would never be the same either. We had all changed that day. It was as if the sea had taken a little bit from each of us in exchange for her mercy, leaving us a little less connected, a little less human.

He raised his head to meet my gaze, and I fell into his thoughts, pulled in by his turbulence. In that unexpected moment, I felt him recognize that I did understand, that I, too, was lost in this post-ritual world. Though he tried to deny it, Weiß had become his family, and the distance that had grown between the four of them was eating at his soul. Just like the tension within Schwarz was eating at mine.

In a gentle but firm voice he said, "Get out of my head, Schuldig." His lips curved in a slight smile.

I realized that we were sort of leaning toward each other, closer than I'd thought. And he wasn't moving away.

I shifted a little closer.

His lips parted slightly; I could feel his breath upon my mouth.

We met over the stick shift, his lips pressing against mine, my tongue touching his. Yohji reached up to cup the back of my head, breathing into me, mind resonating to my own, the thrill of contact overwhelming. He was like me, he knew me – _oh God he knew me!_

**A/N**:

_the wind in my hair makes me so aware how good it is to live tonight  
and I haven't felt so alive in years_

"But Not Tonight," Depeche Mode _Black Celebration_. Depeche Mode is Yohji music, and Schuldig music as well. There is a sort of angsty decadence about their songs that fits these two men's temperaments.

Some specific notes: When Yohji presumes that "Schuldig" is a code name or alias, Schu doesn't correct him. We all know his code name was "Mastermind," and everyone calls him "Schuldig". What isn't he saying? Hmm… For all those Count D fans and/or Gizmo fans, yes, Yo-tan went there. – He also went to Marvel Comics land, someplace that Schu is already familiar with.

**Translation notes ­–**

_der Vaterland_ – literally, "the fatherland" – native country; affectionate term for Germany used by the Nazis during World War II

**Review Mailbag:**

**Yanagi-sen** – by all means, do draw! I would LOVE to see art inspired by this story! And, the side stories are now in the planning stage. Did I say "stories" plural?

**Lestat** – don't he though? Definitely goth. I was trying to think of how to handle the appearance changes from the original show to Glühen, and this is where I went. (Remember, by my clock, it's an 8-year gap between the two.)

**Tysoyo Kalli** – yep, sexy li'l goth. Oh, about the crossdressing, wait till they get to Monaco… – As for Nagi's psychic gift…in my world, he's got a mix of kinetic powers that Rosenkreuz was never able to fully measure. He can affect both large and small systems – from the ocean to delicate sakura blossoms. In the canon we've seen him do gravity blasts, move objects, either type with his power or talk directly to the computer, and affect the atmosphere. In my world, he's even stronger than the sea. In other words, he's extremely rare, and extremely powerful. (That's why so many people look like him in Glühen…)

**May** – honest to god, chapter 32 was written well before your comment about the hair! ;; (bowing in apology) Forgive me, but you know how impulsive Schu gets!


	29. 29

**29**

_Lost in thought and lost in time  
__While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted_

The silence after our kiss was deep and comfortable. I watched the stars fade as false dawn colored the horizon. I wished the night would never end. I had just found someone like Karl, someone who understood me without explanation, someone I could talk to about anything and everything. Yohji had become something more than a friend, more intimate than a lover, more needed than he knew.

"Are you going back?" he asked, voice not endorsing any answer.

I thought about it, I thought about it hard. But I already knew what the answer must be. I think he knew it too. "Yeah."

"Be careful with the kid," he suggested. "Don't scare him. Go slow. He'll come around, and believe me, when he figures out they lied to him, he'll throw the shackles off himself. That is," he added with a sidelong look at me, "if they lied."

"I'd bet my life on it."

"From the sound of things, that's exactly what you're doing," he observed. "Just be careful, okay? I like talking with you. I'd hate to see you blown into confetti."

"I'd hate that too!" I said, smiling.

"You hungry?"

Before I could answer, my stomach gave a monstrous growl.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said with a laugh. "Let's find some breakfast, all right? Oh, I should ask you, can you eat in public, or will Crawford freak out?"

"Hmm." I considered this. "Well, they say it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, so let's eat! I'll deal with him later."

We drove to an all-night café, one Yohji said was usually not very busy at this hour of the morning. I got the feeling he knew most of the local eateries fairly well. Then again, I couldn't exactly imagine any of his team cooking.

Over bowls of miso, we talked in hushed tones about what the coming day might hold. He expected another lonely day avoiding phone calls and longing for the past. I anticipated another ugly scene with Crawford and Nagi.

"Can't we just run away together?" I suggested, only mostly sarcastic. "Find some place away from all this shit and just watch the world spin?"

He laughed and lit a cigarette. "A place full of beautiful people," he said, "with pretty cars and good music, cheap booze and no telephones."

Grinning, I leaned back and looked out the window. The sun was nearly up now. I had to admit, the thought of actually doing it, of running away and living a Bohemian sort of life with this man tempted me sorely. I sighed and stubbed out my cigarette. "Damn, Yohji. We are so fucked."

"Look on the bright side," he said, touching the back of my hand. "You still have my address, right?"

I blinked, then nodded, the smile returning to my face. "That I do, Kudou. That I do."

"You're welcome there anytime. And you can still look for me at that bar. I tend to go there a few times a week, just to catch up on the local street talk." More seriously, he added, "If he hits you again, come see me, okay? I don't like that shit."

The ride back toward the bar was silent but not tense. He pulled in to the curb, watched me get out, then just waved as he turned back onto the street and drove away. I sighed, hunched my shoulders, and started walking.

As I reached the apartment, fatigue washed over me. I had to stop doing this, I thought. Especially if Crawford was going to make me work without sleep every damn time. It was likely he already had something planned to get back at me for last night.

The door opened before I could mindlink with any of the team. Nagi gave me a sullen stare, a little mascara still clinging stubbornly to his eyelashes. "Crawford wants to see you."

Shit, here it comes. I straightened my back and tried for an air of unruffled dignity as I passed the kid and strode into the apartment. Farfarello watched me from his spot on the couch, his single eye unblinking. Crawford stood at the door of his room, beckoning me toward him, then shutting the door behind me.

"You're taking Nagi out again tonight," he said with no preamble. "In spite of his tantrum, last night went quite well. There is a coffee shop with a cyber café about an hour's bus ride from here. After dinner, you will take him there. I don't want you to be seen, Schuldig. Nagi will be just another goth boy in the crowd, but you are to stay invisible. Keep him safe. You will be his bodyguard for this mission. No one is to see what he is doing, there are to be no traces that either of you were ever there. Understood? That means no cigarettes, no trash on the table, no tip, even. Go, do your work, get out."

I heaved a deep breath. This was not what I'd expected! "What do you mean, a success?" I blurted out. "I thought his reaction negated the whole damn thing!"

Crawford regarded me sharply. "I don't have time for this, Schuldig. There is information I need, and the only way to get it at this time is via the internet. We dare not have a connection at this apartment. The noose is closing day by day, and I refuse to give them any extra leads. That means a public terminal, and Nagi will have to work fast."

"Whoa, wait a minute," I said, raising my hands. "Crawford, how can you be so damn sure? I know how your visions work, they're vague as hell and often misleading. How do you know that we're safe right now, but not for much longer? My nerves are about shot, thanks to you! If I hadn't --" I broke off. I had been about to say_ if I hadn't talked with Yohji last night, I'd be crazy now._

Crawford glared at me, his glasses flat mirrors keeping me from seeing his eyes. "I know where you were. I choose not to discuss it at this time."

My heart sank, though for the life of me I couldn't decipher why. Which man did I believe I was betraying, here? "Brad, I just --"

Brad lunged forward, grabbed my shirt front and slammed me against the wall. "I said not at this time, Schuldig! You do not want to hear what I would say right now, and it's taking a lot of effort to not throw it in your face. I am trusting you to not jeopardize the team, and to do what you can to keep your sanity intact. I do not," he snarled, releasing his hold, "happen to enjoy it."

I stared at him, stunned to the core. Was that jealousy? Before I could contemplate it too much, self-preservation kicked in. I collected my wits and put on a poker face, then asked, "What kind of information is Nagi looking for?" My voice wasn't quite steady, but it didn't sound as bad as I'd expected.

Brad took a few deep breaths, clearly calming himself, too. "I need to know what medicines we can mix with Farfarello. His psychosis is flaring up again, but we don't dare take him off the anti-seizure medication. We're going to be traveling soon, and I need this under control."

"Will you be all right here alone with him?"

"I'll have to be," he said, giving me an odd look. "Go get some sleep. You'll need to be sharp tonight. There will be no room for error."

I exited the room without another word. Nagi watched me go into the kitchen, then back out toward my room.

From the couch I heard Far mutter something that sounded like "whore". I stopped, turning to glare at him. "What was that, Farfarello?" I asked, anger ready to boil over.

"Babylon returns," he whispered, then picked up a book and ignored me with practiced ease.

Unsettled beyond words, I watched as Nagi slipped back into his room. I could hear the scrape of furniture – moved by hand, not telekinetically – being shoved against the door. Before Far could look up again, I slipped into my own room and locked the door behind me.

Tired though I was, I couldn't sleep. I reached out for Brad's mind, hoping to clarify something he'd said.

He grudgingly lowered his shields enough to ask, ::What do you want, Schuldig?::

::How do you know we're safe right now?:: I asked. ::What's going to change that will make us not safe, and when?::

Brad huffed a mental sigh. ::Schuldig, as I've told you, we are in the care of the yakuza. They have an extensive and highly efficient network here. Right now they even have Esset thwarted, but that won't last. I don't know what Esset has in the works, but within a matter of weeks, perhaps sooner, they will break through the net and come for us. Normals can't outsmart Esset operatives for long. The only thing that will change is time.::

::Oh. So, where are we going next? Another safe house?:: I really wondered just how much he Saw, or how much of this was conjecture. Crawford was a highly intelligent man, but conjecture alone would get us nowhere.

::I've Seen us leaving the country,:: he replied. ::We'll spend a few months abroad, then return when things cool down here. With any luck they'll waste a good deal of resources looking for us where we aren't.::

::Will that be it, then?:: I asked, hopeful that this would all blow over. ::A few months abroad?::

Brad fell silent, though I could feel a fine degree of agitation through our link. Then, ::Schuldig, I wish you could grasp the depth of this. Please try to understand. This will never blow over. There's a good chance we will never stay in one place this long again, for the rest of our lives. Now, stop looking for a way out and get serious. I can't do this alone.:: With that he raised his shields and closed me out.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. What if he was wrong? Then again, what if he wasn't?

Sleep came fitful and sweaty. I awoke around four, feeling less rested than I had before going to bed. I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. Some nightmares never seemed to die.

I got dressed in my leather pants and a nondescript shirt and ventured into the living room. Farfarello lay curled up in his straitjacket on the couch. By the slackness of his features I knew Brad had dosed him with tranquilizers. I hoped it wasn't hurting him, but I knew too well how dangerous the man could be, and I knew the risk was necessary.

Nagi sat at the kitchen bar, picking at a bowl of fried rice. He'd done his own makeup this time. The kid always was a fast learner, though I would have emphasized his eyes more. Still, the effect was accurate: he would pass for an unremarkable goth kid having an unremarkable time out, no questions asked.

Brad stood in the kitchen, rubbing his forehead. He glanced up at me as I raided the refrigerator. Bottle of water in one hand, sweet roll in the other, I regarded him coolly and asked, "Are we still on for tonight?"

Brad nodded. "You leave in half an hour. If anything goes wrong, call this number." He repeated the number twice to make sure we had it straight.

Whether I could remember it or not, I knew that Nagi had soaked it in. "Is that the number here?"

"Of course not," he replied sharply. "But it is someone who can get you out of a tight spot, once only. If you call, be aware that they will contact me and this apartment will be empty within fifteen minutes. We will arrange to meet up again later, to figure out what went wrong."

I really didn't like the way this was going. "Brad," I asked, trying not to sound bitchy, "what the hell is that supposed to mean? Have you Seen something happening tonight? Warn me in a language I understand, damn it! Auf Englisch, oder auf Deutsch, bitte! This vague shit is killing me."

Brad glared, adjusted his glasses. "Schuldig, it's simple enough for even you to understand: don't screw up. Period. If you do, you might not die, but it will not be pleasant. Got it?"

"Jawohl." I didn't feel like eating, but I made myself do it anyway. I'd need the energy, and from what Brad had told me earlier, I'd be stuck at a café with no food. Leave no traces, he'd said. "Wait a second. What about fingerprints? Gloves would be damn conspicuous."

"Spirit gum," Nagi said in an unhappy monotone. "No skin oil to leave a print. Feels nasty, and I'm not sure it'll come back off, but Crawford said it would work."

"Brad," I asked, honestly concerned now, "how close are they, really?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't leave the apartment. Now get going, you don't have a lot of time."

I cleared my head as best I could, given the low quality of sleep I'd had lately, and led Nagi out to the bus line. I walked directly behind him most of the way, making sure that I didn't bump into anyone as we passed. It's always best to suggest no one's there if you don't make physical contact, after all, and Brad had hinted that being perceived as someone else wasn't good enough tonight. So I concentrated on being unnoticed, while Nagi's protective coloring did the job for him.

As we rode to the café, I kept a cautious mindscan sweeping the area around us, on the bus and on the ground. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but Brad had made me a little paranoid.

A sensation of cool breeze brushed against my mind, and I froze, diving behind my shields. Somewhere out there, a telepath searched casually for – what? For us? I locked that thought down tight and gripped Nagi's arm, trying to alert him to the danger. He glanced at me, and I touched my forefinger to my temple and shook my head. His eyes widened and he turned to face forward; I could feel his shields slide firmly into place.

Very carefully I reached out, trying to pinpoint the other telepath. Fortunately for me, it would be hard for them to know my exact location, even if contact had been made. They would need to triangulate on a moving target, and unless they had a relay of telepaths working together, that would be damn hard. But, unfortunately for me, that meant I couldn't locate them, either. Not with any degree of certainty. All I knew was, someone was out there, quite possibly looking for me. I leaned forward to whisper in Nagi's ear, unwilling to risk telepathic contact at this time.

"Kid, just play it cool. I'll keep watch. If anything gets hairy, you have that phone number. Keep yourself safe and get to a phone, got it?"

The rest of the bus trip was uneventful. Still, I didn't let my guard down for a moment. I had the feeling we were being watched, though from where I couldn't say. As we hurried to the café, I kept my invisibility zone smaller than I'd have liked, not daring to reach too far for fear of being noticed.

Nagi ordered a juice drink and helped himself to a free terminal, settling in and opening two windows. In one he started his search for Farfarello's medicines. In the other he brought up information on shipping lanes. This was agonizingly slow, as he was typing like any other boy here, instead of using his powers to perform his own searches from the inside of the system. As the waitress came by with his drink, he brought up another window, this one detailing the admissions procedures for a prestigious university in France. He was covering his tracks, throwing useless information into the mix in case anyone was monitoring.

I watched the clock on the wall, my heartbeat yelling at me that the clock was slow, damn it, we'd been there too long already. I wanted a cigarette.

Nagi casually wrapped a napkin around his glass and took a drink, then pulled out his little notebook and a pen and started writing, way too fast for me to follow. Then again, my ability to read katakana pretty much sucked. He checked his two real searches, jotting down notes about medications and dosages, and ocean currents and tour ships. Then he glanced around, made sure no one was looking directly at him, and whispered to me, "Hide me for a minute."

I encouraged people not to look in his direction, and those who did look saw only the boy sitting there, sipping his drink. They did not see him go into the main programming of the terminal and basically erase the prior hour from its memory, then reset the clock to look like nothing interesting had happened. If anyone took interest in his searches and followed them back to this computer, they would find no evidence that it had even been in use at that time. I smiled to myself as Nagi finished his work, tired but triumphant. "I'm done," he murmured, slipping from his chair.

I followed him out the door, my shields once again hiding only myself while Nagi walked a little ahead of me, for all appearances alone. As we reached the bus stop, a group of kids wandered over, laughing and talking excitedly. Like Nagi, they wore black clothes and makeup. They took notice of my awkward young teammate and tried to engage him in conversation. I grinned and watched, enjoying the show.

A telepathic echo formed in my head, and I saw myself from behind and up, as if from a rooftop: a tall, red-haired European standing at the curb near a knot of black-clad youths. I felt that tentative mental touch again, only this time it sharpened in recognition.

Training overcame instinct: I pushed back, searching the immediate awareness of the hunter. Answer found, I clamped my shields down tight and hissed in Japanese, "Go home now. Don't let him leave."

Then I turned and ran, darting across the path of the oncoming bus, hoping only that Nagi would obey without question and draw no attention to himself. They hadn't noticed him, hadn't recognized him for one of their quarry. I would find my own way home, but not before leading them well out of the way. And, if I couldn't shake them off my trail, I still had that phone number, I could – oh, shit.

The number was gone, dissolved into a meaningless series of digits.

**A/N:**

_Lost in thought and lost in time  
__While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted _

This quote from Pink Floyd's "Coming Back to Life" (_Pulse_) seems to be talking specifically about Schuldig and Crawford, and hinting at changes to come.

Culture note – in Japan, I understand it's common to have soup for breakfast, hence the bowls of miso.

**Translation notes** –

_auf Englisch, oder auf Deutsch, bitte!_ – in English, or in German, please!

_jawohl_ – yes, indeed (here, said to be sarcastic)

_katakana_ – Japanese written characters

**Review Mailbag**:

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – Very…very…pissed and jealous, indeed… Thank you for the "dazzling". I'm trying to keep this as real as possible for the characters, and I'm glad it's coming across that way. And, yes, the Nagi problems will certainly bite later on…

_**may**_ – if you like "Gremlins", check out the anime/manga "Petshop of Horrors". It's cool as hell, and just as twisted. – I'm glad you like my vision of Yohji as more than just a himbo. He's a very sharp cookie, and he misses no detail. There are many things Schu will tell him that will come back later… For info on the side stories, check my blog – there's more room to talk about them there! As for Schuldig's hair… My lips are sealed.

Thanks for reviewing "To Those About to Die" too! In my WK timeline, the end of the original series (tower falling into the ocean) is April 2000. I put Gluhen 8 years later, based on the length of Ran's hair. "To Those" actually spans Berger's lifetime, from a child recruited by Esset to his final moments. As of the most recent posting, that story is way ahead of "Coming Home", and will be concluded before "CH" catches up. There will be a massive spoiler in it, though, and I'm trying to time things so the clues in one all line up before the spoiler in the other one hits. I am veering from the canon of Gluhen regarding the nature of the psi agents and the significance of Rosenkreuz, and the dialogue will veer from the show at certain critical points to back up my vision of that world.

_**Lestat** _– re: Schu's real name – nice catch. – Stay tuned.

**_Yanagi-sen_** – Schu just has this knack for getting himself in trouble, doesn't he? Good thing he found someone to confide in, someone cool-headed, rational, with a good grip on reality… If you were him, what would YOU do about Yohji?

**FinalNote**:

Check out my Yahoo! Groups mailing list for updates and stuff. It's going to be more current than the blog (hopefully), and that way _the news comes to yous_! It will outline everything I am currently working on. For example, which chapters are going to be updated and which ones are in the beta process…in other words, it's a very detailed mail updated weekly about me and my writing.


	30. 30

**30**

_there are flies on the windscreen…_

The mental touch remained, telling me that my pursuer still had me in his sights. If this was one of a team, there were at least two other operatives in the area. I kept my shields as solid as possible and tried like hell not to think about Nagi. I hated leaving him like that, but it was the only chance we had. They hadn't seen him, they thought I was casing the area or looking for something. Barring further disaster, the kid should be home within an hour.

Stop that, I told myself. Think about anything else. If they get in, make sure they find nothing useful.

I ran between buildings and over fire escapes, trying to elude pursuit. Still, the mental touch remained, light but firm, showing me my fleeing back and bright, road-flare hair. Maybe I would cut it off and dye it black, I thought with a snarl. That would serve it right for being so noticeable.

Forcing my emotions to calm down and let me work, I looked for a place to hide. Draw them into a public place? Maybe, but I'd be cornered inside. Run? I was already winded. Damn. Okay, think, Schuldig, think.

I sprinted up a fire escape and vaulted the railing onto the roof. My pace increased as I flew across the distance to the far side and leaped across to the next building. As I landed, I dropped and rolled, hoping they had lost sight of me on the first rooftop. I didn't hold much hope for that, but it could happen. I pulled my shirt up, covering the back of my head, and crept to the edge of the roof. Cautiously, hiding my pale face and bright hair as best I could, I peered over the side. Below, I could sense a large crowd of people, drinking and dancing somewhere within the building.

I remembered a technique one of my instructors had shown me, a sort of passive awareness state that isn't easy for other telepaths to pick up on. Counting my breaths, I forced my body to slow down, to become still. Like sensing a predator beyond the door, I could feel two hunters even now reaching the rooftop of the building behind me.

In this state, I could still feel the revelers below, and when bright thoughts of imminent sex broke through the muddle, I knew what I had to do. I leaped up and over the side, dropping three stories and landing in a crouch. Just in front of me, a young man held a car door open for his date. The girl shrieked when she saw me, as if I'd appeared out of nowhere, which I basically had. I shoved the man out of the way, snatching the keys as I did so and diving into the car, locking myself in. I slithered into the driver's seat, shoved the ignition key home, and started the car as the two operatives reached street level.

I shifted gears like a race car driver, forcing the speed up faster than the car liked. It whined and howled, but it got me the hell out of there, which was all I asked at the moment. I felt the mental contact melt away with distance, leaving behind the impression of a mad scramble for transportation and a desperate phone call for backup.

Phone call. Fuck. There was a car phone right next to me, and I still couldn't get the number straight in my head. Maybe next time I'd write it on my hand in indelible ink. Well, no time to worry about that shit. Whether this car was reported stolen yet or not, the Esset operatives had seen it clearly enough, and knew which direction I had gone. I started looking around for other options, all the while keeping a portion of my mind quietly watching for pursuit.

Up ahead lay a parking garage. It used to be part of the Takatori complex, ironically enough. I swerved to the entrance and in, pausing only to take a ticket from the machine. Two turns, three, and I had the feeling I was out of time. I pulled into a spot and killed the engine, then exited the car as quietly as possible, slipping the keys into my pocket. Was that the gate arm? The _ching_ of the ticket dispenser? Fuck!

I clung to the shadows, aiming for the stairwell. Then I realized, the stairwell was probably being watched. From below I could hear the soft roar of a well-tuned engine, moving upward.

Silently I prayed that the new owners of this property had not changed the landscaping. Moving quietly, I pulled myself up onto the open ledge overlooking the main building. Far below, I could just make out old hedges and trees in the gathering darkness. I took a deep breath and stood, reaching out toward my right.

My hand closed on a thick vine, almost wooden in texture and covered in tiny sharp points. I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation. This was going to hurt.

Taking a deep breath, I swung myself out and onto the vines. Once my full weight hung from my hands, the thorns sank in with a vengeance. I kept my movements slow and measured, reaching for a toehold, then lowering myself bit by bit toward the ground. Time was not my friend right now, but silence was; I traded one for the other a little and quickened my pace, trusting the slight breeze to cover any sound.

Within the garage I could hear two vehicles spiraling up the ramp, one going much slower. Headlights swept across the darkness; I clung to the side of the building and waited, then moved with a cautious desperation. I had no weapon but my own resourcefulness. I would take that up with Crawford later, provided I made it back at all.

Glancing down, I could see a hedge within reach. Problem was, it would make a huge amount of noise if I dropped into it. I studied it for a moment, considering my options. I could creep to one side or the other, but that would put me in view of the wide ledges in the structure, and of anyone inside who happened to look. Right now I was sort of in a blind spot. Only someone outside the building would see me, and in the darkness, they'd have to be really lucky, even with my blazing mane. But hearing me would be a different matter.

The hedge looked to be about four feet deep. On the other side, thick grasses for about twenty feet, then trees. I took a deep breath, braced my feet against the vines, released my grasp and kicked off backward, turning to hit the ground on my shoulder.

Only it didn't work quite as planned. My foot snagged in the vine, throwing me off balance and dropping my shoe in the hedge. I landed hard, with more noise than I wanted, and it took me a moment to recover. I made a grab for my shoe and put it on, cursing silently. My shoulder hurt like a bitch, and my hands were bleeding. Again.

Flashlight beams cut the night.

I pulled my shirt up again to hide my hair and took off running, low to the ground and aiming for the trees. My speed was failing. I had to get away from here, and soon.

I took a moment once I'd reached the cover of the treeline and tried to catch my breath. Everything hurt, damn it. At least this time I had shoes, I told myself, fighting down hysterical laughter.

The flashlights searched near the building, under the hedge, but it was only a matter of time before they came to the treeline. Cautiously, tentatively, I reached out my thoughts to assess the enemy.

Two psi talents, and a dozen normals. My mood brightened. Only two? I had the impression one was at the entrance and the other on the roof, while their lackeys combed the grounds and searched the garage more thoroughly. Moving slowly, I paralleled the building, aiming for the street. If I could just get across that road without being seen, I knew several ways out from there.

Again I had to walk a fine line between speed and silence. The pace infuriated me. I wanted to run, damn it, not slink in slow motion. But training and experience forced me to move with the slow determination of a hunting cat. _One bird, two bird, red bird, blue bird,_ I thought to myself, counting off four armed guards searching for me in vain.

As I reached the end of the treeline, I debated taking another mental look around. It might tell me where the fourteen hunters were in relation to me and each other, but it might also alert the telepath among them that I was slipping their net. I decided to forgo it and trust my reflexes to get me to safety. I flexed my knees, took a deep breath, and ran.

The ground blurred beneath me as I hurtled over the lush grass of the former Takatori Corporation. Ahead of me, a private road, then wilderness for several kilometers. I risked using a soft mental shield that whispered _it's a fox, nothing more._

My feet skimmed over paved road, then up a slight embankment.

I was free.

But I had no way to get back to the team. And I hurt. Damn, I hurt! I hoped my shoulder wasn't dislocated. My hands throbbed. It felt like some of the thorns had stayed with me, broken off in my skin. Fuck.

A momentary wave of dizziness hit, and I clung to a tree, but that brought on a flash of pain from my abused hands. I slid to the ground, breathing hard, little lights dancing before my eyes. I refused to pass out. It just wasn't going to happen. I struggled back to my feet and stumbled into the woods.

Fortunately, even though my mind rejected numbers now, my sense of direction was not impaired. I made my way north and west, vaguely toward the apartment and safety. I wanted to reach out to them, make sure Nagi had gotten there okay, but I didn't dare. Those operatives were around here somewhere, hopefully still at the Takatori complex; any telepathic activity would draw them like flies to a corpse. All I could do was hope, and keep moving.

Time stumbled along behind me. Unlike Brad Crawford, I never felt the need to wear a watch, but tonight it would have come in handy. I had no idea how long I'd been staggering around out here, trying to sneak through the woods in the middle of the night. This wilderness area wasn't that big, was it? It occurred to me that my sense of direction could have misfired, that I could have been wandering around in circles.

I tried not to think about it.

Little specks of white light flashed across my view again, and I paused, leaning against a tree. Then I realized, the lights were real: that was a freeway bridge up there! I hadn't gotten lost; I knew exactly where I was, and which way I needed to go from here.

What I didn't know was how I was going to do this, or where the operatives were now. For all I knew, they could be waiting for me just beyond the woods. Or they could still be at that parking garage, searching through the parked cars one by one. I hoped that was the case, though I had no way of knowing. I stayed under cover of the trees and followed the freeway, searching for a ramp. I'd just have to do what I could and hope for the best.

My strength began failing in earnest. I was pretty sure my shoulder was in a bad way, and my hands felt swollen. But, there – a ramp descending from the freeway. I hurried over to it and hid beneath it like a troll under a bridge. Gathering my will, I searched for an easy mark, and found one: an older man, traveling alone. I grabbed his mind and directed him to the ramp, guiding him down from the freeway and into my domain.

Moments later, he walked away, aiming for some nearby street lights. In his thoughts was the image of his car with a flat tire, sitting at the bottom of this ramp. By the time he got back, I would be long gone, and with any luck, the car returned to him unharmed. I didn't want any loose ends with this. I couldn't afford any trails leading back to me, or to my destination.

As I aimed for the ramp back up to the freeway, I pulled the battered matchbook from my pocket, my hand throbbing with pain as I made it work. I read the address, ignoring the number but committing the street name to memory, then stuffed it back in my pocket and drove as fast as I could bear to. Pain kept threatening to drag me into unconsciousness, but I refused to give in. I promised my battered body that it could rest as soon as I was safe.

An eternity later, I was losing the fight. Darkness and light flashed at the edges of my vision. I read the street signs with growing desperation. If I got lost now, I would be lost in more than one sense of the word.

I turned right onto a narrow street, and ahead of me the sign matched the hasty writing on the matchbook. With a sigh of relief I pulled the car over. My eyes drifted closed.

I startled awake, not sure if I'd actually slept and if so, for how long. I looked around, panic rising in me. It was dark, after midnight. I had no idea where I was. Then memory came back as though it had merely stepped out for a moment. I tried to breathe normally. I might have dozed for a few moments, but I hadn't lost any significant amount of time.

Slowly, painfully, I got out of the car. I checked the address on the matchbook again, then started walking.

This wasn't a very safe neighborhood. Mentally I searched for trouble. Thankfully, I found some. I grinned to myself as I touched the minds of a group of young toughs on the prowl. I learned that they were looking for a fight, or a car to steal. Perfect. With a mental whisper I brought them my way.

Even as they approached, I changed my appearance in their minds to that of an older man, drunk and stumbling home. They surrounded me, as I knew they would. I begged them not to hurt me, to take my money and my car and let me go. I threw a handful of cash at them, and bumped into their leader. As he and his fellows laughed and scooped up the money, I gripped his mind and twisted. I put the car keys in his hand. His empty expression turned pleased, and he led his friends to their ride for the night.

One last thing: I touched each of their minds, changing the location of the event to the ramp from the highway. The motorist would no doubt report his car stolen, though he left it with a flat tire. These toughs would believe they had come upon him too drunk to drive, and taken it. A nice, tidy ending to a very messy night.

As they drove away, I resumed my walk, watching the building numbers, searching for one in particular. An unappealing apartment building loomed before me, the number looking right. I wandered in, stumbling up the stairs to the second floor.

I paused in front of the door to the corner apartment and checked the matchbook again. Yes, this was it. I took a deep breath and knocked.

Then I knocked again.

Then I reached out with my mind.

Kudou wasn't there.

I snarled out a curse. I didn't have anything to pick the lock with, either.

Wait a minute! I still had the keys for that first car. I pulled them out and looked at them closely, then examined the lock itself. One of the keys was probably to a mailbox or deposit box; it was small and slender. I worked it into the lock, feeling the tumblers move reluctantly as I wiggled the key back and forth. Frustration surged in me, and I hit the key with the heel of my hand, sending a fresh wave of agony up my arm, but at the same time popping the lock open.

I worked the key back out and let myself into the darkened room. The apartment smelled like smoke and cooked noodles, with an undercurrent that might have been incense or hashish. I let my eyes adjust to the dim light from the window, then searched for the bathroom. Hopefully he had something I could use on my hands, and maybe something for the pain, too.

When my groping fingers found a sink and a light switch, I shut the door and turned on the light. The bathroom was small but clean, smelling like soap and a musky cologne. I turned on the tap and started cleaning my damaged hands. Bits of thorn showed as black specks within the puffy flesh; I cringed at the prospect of digging them out. There were at least ten of the damn things. I started searching for some disinfectant.

The front door opened, then closed.

Oh, fuck. I turned off the water. It would be bad enough if it was Yohji, but if it wasn't… I hurt too much to scan his mind. Besides, if it was an operative, he'd be able to grab my mind through the link and I wasn't sure I could break away. I grabbed a can of spray deodorant, turned off the light and crouched just beyond the swing of the door. If it wasn't Yohji, I was prepared to fight my way out, though I was in piss poor shape to carry through.

Stealthy footsteps came to a stop outside the bathroom door.

Then I heard the snap of a lighter, followed by the moist hiss of a cigarette flaring to life. "Why are you bleeding all over my apartment?"

My breath rushed out of my lungs, leaving me once again dizzy. I fumbled the spray can to the floor, hauled myself up, and opened the door.

Yohji regarded me with calm curiosity, cigarette dangling from his lips. I could smell alcohol on him, and his eyes were foggy with it.

"I'll explain later," I murmured.

He stepped past me into the bathroom and rummaged in the cupboards, bringing out an array of disinfectants, swabs, and bandages. Setting these on the counter, he reached under the sink and pulled out a small bottle of solvent and some towels. "Be right back," he said, taking these toward the front door. I realized I must have left bloody prints all over the damn place. Good thing Yohji knew how to remove them properly.

I sighed wearily and turned the tap back on. He'd pulled down a bottle of soap like they use in hospitals. My eyebrow went up as I surveyed the other things he'd set out for me. This guy sure knew his first aid, I thought.

He returned to the bathroom and put away his cleaning supplies, then rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the soap. I stepped back from the sink, blotting gingerly at my hands with a soft towel. He regarded me in the mirror and scowled. "Hey, don't do that."

I blinked.

"That one will leave lint in the wounds. Here, rinse off again and let me have a look." He took the offending towel from me and dried his own hands, then tossed it into the bathtub.

Sure enough, little strands of fiber had stuck to my hands. Shit. I washed them yet again, the pain starting to be more than I could easily deal with.

Yohji took hold of my right hand and gently dried the palm with a wad of gauze. He frowned at me. "What did you do, get in a fight with a tree?"

"Something like that," I muttered, annoyed that my hands were now shaking.

"Wait here." He left the bathroom again.

I leaned against the wall, trying not to pass out. My shoulder was actively screaming at me now, on top of the throbbing agony of my hands.

Yohji returned and set some more items on the counter. He picked up a small bottle and shook some pills out, then asked, "Can you take codeine?"

"As far as I know," I told him.

"Here," he said, holding two tablets in front of my mouth. I took them in my teeth as his other hand raised a cup to my lips. He did this so smoothly I realized he must have had some practice at it. I let him feed me the pain pills and juice, sipping only enough to wash the pills down. I didn't trust my stomach anyway, and I knew codeine made some people queasy.

"Okay, let me see your hands," he said, picking something else up from the counter. "I was thinking about you, Schuldig. Something you said gave me all sorts of ideas."

I looked at him, puzzled.

He held up a roll of duct tape and winked.

"Hentai!" I said with a weak laugh.

He tore off a strip, then lifted my right hand and squinted at it. "Okay, you're not going to like this, but trust me, it works." Carefully Yohji pressed the tape to my palm. I could feel him working it into the cuts, and I flinched. "Easy, I know it hurts, but we have to get that shit out of your hand," he said, voice calm and sober. He worked the tape in, pressing it down with his fingertips, then he looked into my eyes and asked, "Ready?"

I gritted my teeth and nodded, expecting him to rip the tape off quickly. But instead, he peeled it off with great care, going excruciatingly slowly. I could feel the edges of the cuts pulling open, and fresh pain seared through me. When the tape was finally off, Yohji guided me toward the toilet, putting the lid down and helping me to sit before my legs gave out. Clammy sweat coated my face and neck, and I really thought I was going to puke. He returned to the sink and ran some water, then brought me a wet cloth, lifting my hair and draping it on the back of my neck.

Then he tore off another strip of tape.

Tears streamed down my face as he worked on my left hand. I anticipated the pain when he pulled the tape free, and was not disappointed. Then he showed me what had come out of my skin: stuck to the tape were several thorns, some gravel, and road grime. "Nice trick," I croaked, trying to get my stomach back down where it usually lived.

"It's really good for glass," he told me, sticking the two spent pieces of tape together and tossing them in the tub with the towel. "But it's the best way I've found to get thorns and splinters out without them breaking. It's a florist trick. Can you stand yet?"

I nodded and lurched to my feet. The world spun; guess the codeine was working, I thought. It was harder than I'd expected to keep my balance without use of my hands. Yohji put a hand to the small of my back and guided me over to the sink again. I cringed a little, surveying the different bottles and ointments. This was going to hurt.

But Yohji selected a jar of salve and gently slathered it over first one palm, then the other. It stung only a moment before blessed numbness sank in. I felt myself sigh at the relief. Then he wrapped soft strips of gauze around my hands as neatly as any nurse. Once my hands were bandaged to his satisfaction, he eyed me critically and said, "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

I realized I had been holding my arm close to my side, not wanting to move it. Of course he'd notice.

"Come on, let's get that shirt off," he said, starting on the buttons.

I stood passively, letting him undo the shirt, then shrugged out of the left sleeve on my own. When he started working my right arm free, I hissed in protest. He moved a little more carefully and finally got the shirt all the way off, then tossed it in the tub. I wondered if he planned to give it back or burn it with the rest of the blood-stained items.

"Damn, Schuldig," he murmured, gently touching my shoulder.

I turned my head to look, but the angle was wrong. So I looked past him, at the mirror, and gasped. From collarbone to bicep, my shoulder was one massive dark bruise. He turned me a little to look at the back, and I could just see a wide patch of shredded skin where I had landed on it and slid. I knew that had been a bad landing, but damn!

"Okay, just try to relax," he told me, gripping my elbow and starting to flex my arm. The wrist hurt, but not brutally. The elbow worked fine, but when he raised my arm I jerked away reflexively, hugging my side.

Gentle fingers prodded the back of my shoulderblade, and he took hold of my bicep firmly. He forced my arm up only a little, not enough to make me pull away, but enough that he could tell it was not, in fact, dislocated. He cleaned up the scrapes and rubbed some salve into the skin, then tied my arm to my side with an elastic sports bandage. "That'll keep it from moving for a few hours, anyway. There's not much else I can do about the shoulder. It's sprained pretty bad, but at least it's in the socket. Anything else need doctoring?"

I looked down. My favorite leather pants looked as if they'd been dragged through barbed wire. I groaned. Now that my hands weren't distracting me, I could feel a myriad little scratches itching on my legs.

Yohji followed my gaze and raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. Then he reached down and unfastened my pants, easing them down over my hips. I could feel my face grow hot: I never wear underwear with leather, and now Yohji knew it. Then the sharp sting of leather peeling off of cut skin brought me back to reality.

Soon I was standing naked in Yohji's bathroom, bruised and bandaged and quite at his mercy. He tended the little scratches on my legs. Those weren't particularly deep. The leather had spared me the worst of it, though the pants were officially ruined and now joined my other trashed clothing in his bathtub.

Yohji finished putting away his medical supplies and went to find me something to wear. I made use of the toilet with some difficulty, having only one useful arm and that hand wrapped in gauze, then regarded myself in the mirror. I looked like total hell.

He returned with a bathrobe, and a hairbrush. I smiled my thanks.

Feeling a little more human, I wandered into his living room, the bare wood floor cool under my tired feet. Yohji was just tossing a pillow onto the over-long sofa; he'd already thrown a sheet and a blanket over it. On the table stood a teapot and two steaming cups, and a half-empty box of orange cookies. I sat on the edge of the sofa and gingerly picked up a cup, not totally trusting my hand but desperately thirsty. The grassy smell of green tea wafted up, and I drank as fast as it cooled. I seemed to be tolerating the medicine well enough; I felt hungry, not queasy, and helped myself to the cookies.

Yohji picked up his cup and sipped, standing by the table and watching me. "You want to tell me what happened?" he asked.

I looked down at my bandaged hands. "He was right," I whispered. "Oh, shit!" Memory hit with the force of a gunshot. "Nagi! I have to go!" I tried to get up, but my legs didn't want to cooperate anymore.

Yohji took the teacup from my hand and firmly held me down on the sofa. "You are not going anywhere tonight," he said forcefully. He seated himself next to me, gripping my good wrist. "Tell me what happened, maybe I can help."

I swallowed and took a deep breath, then told him everything as fast as the words would come, trying to get through it all before the pain pills knocked me out. He listened intently. "I don't know if Nagi made it back," I whispered, looking up at him. "If the kid had to use that phone call, I don't know if they're even in Japan anymore."

Yohji pondered a moment, then asked, "Can't you do that mind thing, find out where he is?"

"No, not right now I can't," I said. "I'm too messed up. Besides, pain pills throw me off."

"Ah, hell," he grumbled, as though blaming himself for giving them to me.

"No, no, it's okay," I told him. "I'm exhausted and hurt anyway, I wouldn't be able to do anything without broadcasting. Besides, the good thing about painkillers, I can't use my gift, and no one else can either. I mean, it muffles my talent so I look like anyone else right now. If they're still looking for me, they can't find me."

"Does it turn the radio off?" he asked, curious again.

"No, actually, it doesn't," I said. "Some drugs make it worse, especially the stronger ones. This stuff doesn't seem that bad, though. But anything really strong throws it right out of control. I can't keep them out, and I start to lose me. That's fairly typical, really. You'll never find a telepath hooked on downers. Not a functional one, anyway." Then I gave him a cockeyed look and a smile. "Shit, I just gave you a weapon, didn't I."

"Will I ever have to use it?" he asked, totally straight-faced.

"Not with me, you won't," I murmured, fatigue rolling over me like a warm blanket. I yawned and sagged limply into the sofa. "But, I have to go," I grumbled at myself, "I have to get back to Brad, and Nagi." I couldn't move, my limbs felt like they were massively heavy and floating in cotton at the same time.

"Do you guys have any local contacts?" Yohji asked, rising from his seat and helping me lie down. "Someone who brings you news or anything?"

"Yakuza," I mumbled, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth. All around, muffled nighttime thoughts fluttered against my mind like moths drawn to fire. It felt comforting, I was floating on the consciousness of the world, and nothing hurt anymore. With fading consciousness I felt Yohji pull the blanket up to my shoulders, then everything slipped away.

**A/N:**

_there are flies on the windscreen…_

Returning to Depeche Mode's _Black Celebration_ album, we have "Fly On the Windscreen – Final", a reflection of Schuldig's mindset as he tries to get back home. Not terribly optimistic…

To be politically correct, I probably need a disclaimer, so here it is.

**Public Service Announcement: **

This story is not intended as an endorsement of the sharing of prescription medications. Unless you are a psionic assassin running for his life, I do not recommend any of the medical practices mentioned in this story.

Also, just because the characters smoke, drink, and possibly indulge in recreational herbs does not mean you should do the same. I mean, really, if your friends jumped off a cliff… Besides, they're characters. And those are nasty, expensive habits. Buy yaoi manga instead, it's better for you.


	31. 31

**31**

_Here is the house where it all happens…_

Dreams faded slowly, pleasant dreams with warm caresses and laughter. Only vaguely half-awake, I moaned and tried to soothe my aching sex. But one arm was tied, I couldn't move it, and the other hand, my off hand, was covered with bandages. Dream laughter mocked my plight; I groaned, trying to roll onto my belly. Blankets and clothing tangled around me, restrained me, heightened my distress. Then I rubbed against something firm but yielding, like a mattress, with a delightful rough/soft texture. With another groan and a shudder of pleasure, I hugged my pillow to my chest and pressed into the mattress.

I knew I was asleep, I knew I was dreaming, but the pleasure was real, and I thrust against the mattress with smooth determination. I would wake and face the day soon enough, but not just yet. I heard myself gasp as I moved just so, and I repeated the motion, speeding up and moaning with pleasure. Release came with a jolt. I lay there, unmoving, clutching my pillow and letting the sensations just wash over me. Damn, something must have really had me riled up, I thought, trying to recall where this sensual dream had come from.

Riled up, or relieved to be alive? My eyes snapped open as I remembered everything.

From somewhere nearby came the smells and sounds of cooking. I looked around. Yohji's apartment swam into focus, along with about a hundred points of pain. Glancing down, I saw my bandaged hands, my right arm still bound to my side, and the borrowed bathrobe sticky with come. Ah, hell, I thought, suddenly embarrassed. With a grumble I tried to shrug out of the soiled robe.

"Hope you like noodles for breakfast," Yohji said, coming into the room and setting down a cup of coffee and a glass of juice. He looked at me quizzically, then smiled a little. "You all right?"

I flushed. "Yeah, look, I'm sorry about this," I mumbled, still trying to get out of the damn bathrobe.

He reached over and deftly slipped the robe off my good shoulder, then out from under my butt. I pulled the blanket over me, wondering why I was so damn self-conscious all of a sudden.

Yohji just laughed and said, "That's all right, I pulled it out of the laundry basket anyway." I couldn't tell if he was joking. With smooth precision, he unfastened the bandage holding my arm down. "Try moving it a little this morning. There's ibuprofen in the bathroom, take some of that for the swelling." He wadded up the robe and the bandage and strolled to the bathroom, tossing them inside. Then he went on, presumably to his bedroom, and I could hear him rummaging around.

I managed to get to my feet, intent on a trip to the bathroom. Everything ached this morning. At least my hands weren't burning anymore. I stumbled to my destination, not bothering to close the door.

As Yohji walked by, he reached in and set a bundle of clothes by the sink. "See if these fit," he said, "I have to finish breakfast."

There was a pair of grey cotton workout pants, a little long but wearable. I cinched the drawstring as best I could one-handed, then picked up a sort of sleeveless, sideless, black mini t-shirt held together by a ribbed waistband and collar and very little else. I imagined Yohji wearing this to a disco, and grinned. That would be a sight to see! Then I realized this was about the only shirt I'd be able to get into right now, with my shoulder the way it was. I scowled and struggled into it, then returned to the sofa.

Yohji brought in two bowls of fried noodles and seated himself on the floor by the table. Thank God he'd brought me a fork! The thought of trying to eat noodles with chopsticks, left-handed, was beyond me. As it was, the fork was difficult enough. I managed to feed myself without too much embarrassment, though the noodles were cold by the time I was halfway done.

"I have to hurry," I mumbled around a mouthful, speaking more to myself than to Yohji. "I have to get back."

"Hang on, there." He gave me a serious look. "You're not going anywhere like that. It'd be cruel of me to let you out that door. The codeine's worn off by now. Can't you just talk to them from here?"

I shook my head. "Still too risky," I told him.

"I don't get it. You said it's like a radio, is it something they can intercept? The movies always have it as a closed-circuit kind of thing."

"Well, when it's working right, it's closed," I growled, frustrated at my situation. "I haven't been right since the tower."

"Oh, so instead of having a private channel, it's like a cell phone," he muttered. "Anyone with the right kind of scanner can pick it up? Like a stronger telepath?"

"Basically. It's hard to pinpoint location, but there's a chance I'd lead them right to the team, and it's a risk I'm not ready to take."

"Don't they have a phone?" he asked, a little incredulous.

"Nope. Not that I'm authorized to use, even if I did know the number." At his confused frown, I added, "Mr. Duct Tape on the Windows can't have any ringing telephones, either."

"Well, that's not very prudent," Yohji stated flatly. "There should be some kind of backup plan."

I laughed. "No shit! Then again, he probably has one, but didn't bother to tell me. Crawford works in mysterious ways."

Yohji lit up two cigarettes and handed me one, then asked, "Were you dreaming about him?"

I flushed. "Um, no, not exactly."

"Sorry, had to ask," Yohji said with a grin. "You put on a pretty good show, my friend."

I looked away, astounded. I couldn't believe we were actually discussing this. "Sell tickets next time," I quipped, having nothing else to say at the moment.

"I might," he murmured.

The trill of a cell phone interrupted. Yohji got up and retrieved his phone, answering with a clipped "Hai."

I watched him, debated eavesdropping then decided against it. I was still too sore and tired to bother using my telepathy; it would probably just give me a headache.

Yohji hung up and smiled over at me. "It's cool, man. They're okay."

"Beg pardon?" I blurted, startled.

He sauntered back over and sat next to me on the sofa. "I've got street contacts myself," he said. "I made a few calls while you were sleeping. It wasn't hard to get a message through."

My head spun. "Wait, wait. Are you telling me that you're in with the yakuza?" If Yohji knew where we were hiding, who else might know?

"Well, not exactly," he hedged, "but as a detective I did have a fair number of informants, and you never know when they might come in handy. I sort of kept a few on retainer. Word on the street is the son of a high-level crime lord is shacked up with his mistress not far from here. Seems she's quite the looker. Tall, leggy." He grinned at me. "European. Red hair. Smokes like a chimney."

I regarded the cigarette in my bandaged hand, then looked at Yohji through a curtain of tangled red hair. "Nice."

"Hey, it keeps everyone away from you guys. No questions. They've got the whole area locked down tighter than an exclusive girl's school." Yohji took a drag on his cigarette, still grinning. "And if anyone goes poking their nose in, they're going to find a couple hundred armed street thugs just itching for some action. Your Crawford is a shrewd player, my friend, with or without a phone."

"So Nagi made it all right?" I asked, still a little stunned. I hadn't expected Kudou to be so well connected.

He leaned back and blew smoke at the ceiling. "Well, from what you said, if he hadn't gotten back safely then none of them would be there, right? That caller told me that it's still business as usual, so apparently nothing has changed except your being here. I had my contact drop hints that the mistress is hiding out with a chaperone until the situation cools down a little."

I felt myself relax. That did sound like the sort of arrangement Brad had made with his own contacts, and if anything were amiss the place would be as active as an anthill under siege. "If you were me," I asked, "how long would you hide out before going back?"

"I'd give it a full day, anyway. Wait till you can walk a straight line." He regarded me closely. "Wait till you can run or fight, if you have to."

With a sigh I admitted he was right. I was in worse shape than when I woke up on the beach: at least then all my limbs worked. I tried raising my right arm. It hurt like hell. "So I guess you're stuck with me for a few more hours, anyway. That cool with you?"

"No problem, Schuldig. I have food, cigarettes, medicine, anything you need to get your shit together. Like I said, I won't let you out that door until you're functional." Yohji paused and leered at me, adding, "And I don't mean like that."

I laughed. "Right, right!"

We sat together on the sofa, enjoying the silence and our smokes for a couple of minutes. Then Yohji looked over at me and said, "So, Schuldig, you're gay, right?"

I looked away and mumbled, "What brought that up?"

"Oh, I was about to ask you when the phone rang," he said. "You're with Crawford?"

"Oh. That." I studied my bandaged hands. How should I answer him? I'd dropped enough incautious hints, that's for damn sure. We weren't exactly a couple, but we weren't exactly anything else, either. The fact that I was in love with a man who could be passionate one minute and cold the next was not something I felt particularly proud of.

Yohji watched my discomfort, then said, "Gay is cool. Me, I go all ways." He sucked at his cigarette, eyes still on me.

"All? How so?" I asked, hoping he didn't mean anything too bizarre.

"I love women," he said, "and I love men. Totally, with no reservations: never had use for the damn things. But I have pretty strict standards. It has to be special, no matter who it's with." His eyes took on a misty, far-off quality, his next words coming out as softly as a prayer. "Usually it's only one night. But for that night, it's real."

I had the feeling this was a small part of a larger truth, one he was reluctant to talk about at the moment. He sat there, locked in his reverie, his cigarette slowly burning down between his fingers. The silence grew thick, making me uncomfortable. I shifted a little and said, "I guess you could call me gay." Old memories dared me to say more, but I concentrated on my cigarette and tried to ignore them.

"You don't like women?" he asked as if sensing that, like himself, the truth went deeper than appearances.

"Let's just say," I murmured, "I won't with women." Part of me wanted to tell him everything, but shame locked it down.

Instead of prying, Yohji stubbed out his cigarette and changed the subject. "How are you feeling? Need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well, since you're here, may as well show you around." He helped me up, then made a grand gesture and said, "Welcome to my humble home. Here's the TV, help yourself. The remote lives here – don't lose it! The windows are tinted with safety blinds, so don't worry about being seen unless you lean right up close to the glass." Yohji led me into the kitchen. "Feel free to feed yourself. I'd avoid the takeout box in the back of the fridge, I don't remember when I bought that."

I grinned. So this was how normal folk lived.

"Did you say something?" Yohji asked.

"Uh, no," I stammered. Damn, so I was even broadcasting to a non-psi? Oh, this did not make me happy.

As we passed back through the main room, I caught sight of a small black dish with what looked like a bamboo stalk sticking out of it. I went to take a look and found it was a flower, some orchid type, with a single long stalk and one delicate, waxy-white blossom. "What's this?" I asked. I'd seen them before, but never knew what they were.

"Cattelya orchid," he replied.

"I didn't know you could grow them in an apartment," I said, impressed.

"They're not that hard," he said, reaching out to turn the dish a little. "You have to keep turning them or they'll lean toward the sunlight."

"So being a florist is like being a detective?" I teased. "Something you just can't stop doing?"

He smiled sadly, fingers caressing the petals. "This one's the last, I think. Too many memories." Not looking at me, he turned and walked toward his bedroom.

"You can help yourself to some clothes, too," he called out. "If any of them fit." He came back with a pair of sneakers and some socks. "Here, try these. Don't know if you noticed, but your shoes are trashed, too."

"I'm not surprised. For the record, I don't recommend climbing down a thorny vine in the middle of the night. Or any other time, for that matter." I was grateful he'd let me drop the flower conversation so easily. It bothered me that my comment had brought him pain, after all he'd done for me. All he was still doing. I took the sneakers and headed back to the sofa.

They fit, but barely. "Damn, Kudou! You have big feet," I grumbled, trying to pull the laces tighter.

"Not really, they actually match my height," he said, sprawling on the sofa and lighting a cigarette. "Your feet are just really narrow, that's all."

Throughout the day I tested my arm and my hands. I wanted to get back to my team, but my body was not cooperating. The bruising on my shoulder had darkened, and now it was swelling. When Yohji peeled the bandages off my hands, the cuts were angry red, and one on the left palm was seeping. He scrubbed gently at them for me, working the soap in deeper than I had the night before, and trying another disinfectant cream when that was done.

I stood in his bathroom, knowing only pain and wanting more codeine, but not wanting the sluggishness that came with it. Yohji rummaged in his medicine cabinet, then asked, "Can you take penicillin? I don't like the way your hands look."

"What, are you a doctor, now?" I asked. Then again, I was more inclined to trust Kudou with my health than that back-alley quack, or any of the other doctors employed by the underworld.

"No, but I have cut my hands up before," he said, showing me the scars. "The wire is not an easy weapon. If I'm not careful, it whips back around and bites me. Gloves don't cover everything, and wire can cut through leather. We can't get you stitches, but I can give you some antibiotics and try some liquid bandage on the worst ones."

I nodded, wanting a quick answer, even if I didn't like it. "Yeah, I can take penicillin. Nagi can't, but he's not stupid enough to tear his hands up this bad, either."

The liquid bandage felt more like liquid fire. He had me press the edges of one of the cuts together, then he painted it with the antiseptic plastic. I cursed loudly, finding some relief in the outburst. Yohji didn't use it on the seeping cut, though. That one got a butterfly bandage over a dose of ointment.

Once he was done working on my hands, he served up another couple ibuprofen and a penicillin capsule that smelled like vomit. My nose wrinkled, but I took the medicine with some food and lay down to rest. Damn, I hated feeling helpless.

The rest of the day passed among naps and meals and one more unpleasant rebandaging. Yohji pronounced my clothes unsalvageable, unless I wanted a pair of torn-up leather pants for anything. I didn't know if I could replace them at this time, and they had come in handy last night. "I'll keep them," I said, "at least until I can get a pair of Kevlar jeans."

With nightfall the restlessness became more than I could bear. I paced around his apartment, wanting only to be back with Schwarz.

Yohji fixed a simple dinner, then made up two bundles in plastic shopping bags. One held my leather pants and shoes. He dumped the penicillin capsules into the ibuprofen bottle, then tossed that into the bag. The other bag held my shirt, which was beyond hope, and the bandages and towels and anything else I had bled on.

"I hope you're going to burn that," I mumbled, eyeing the larger plastic bag.

He regarded me curiously and asked, "Any chance someone will come here looking for you?"

The thought scared me. "I sure the hell hope not," I told him.

"Yeah, I was going to burn it," he told me, eyes narrowed. "The incinerator is on the first floor. Thought I'd drop this in on the way out. You ready?"

I picked up my bag and followed him out the door.

As he drove, I kept my shields down tight, covering them with the suggestion_ look at the car, look at the car._ I felt horribly exposed, but didn't dare use a stronger suggestion for fear of leakage. My body had taken enough damage that my mind ached. It would take several days of rest before I could do a damn thing with any degree of confidence.

Yohji coasted to a stop near the bar. "I'll look for you here," he said, "in a couple of days. Make sure you're mending okay."

"Do you want your clothes back?"

He smiled and shook his head. "You keep them. Give you something to think about."

I looked at him, then on impulse leaned over and kissed him swiftly on the mouth. He responded with tender warmth. "Be safe, Kudou," I murmured against his lips.

"Watch your back," he replied. "And remember to go slow with the kid, right?"

I smiled, backing out of the car. "I remember."

He drove away, and I turned my attention to not being seen as I walked back to the current Schwarz hideout.

**A/N**:

_Here is the house where it all happens…_

"Here Is the House," Depeche Mode _Black Celebration_. Schu is on the edge of a possible real friendship with Yohji, maybe something more. If you know the song, you know where this may be going. If you're not familiar with the song, trust me – it's going somewhere good.

**Review Mailbag**:

**_All_** – Happy holidays! I'm going to be doing a lot of uploading, so brace yourselves. Also, over at the website ), if you want to peek at the soundtrack, it'll be going up around Christmas. Be warned, it's a spoiler fest… –

_**Koneko**_ – Thank you, thank you, thank you! Don't worry, we've got a ways to go yet.

**_Kari-chan_** – Thank you for writing, I'm so glad you could join us! Schuldig is not only my central character but my muse as well. (Whenever you see one of those little smoking characters in my replies, that be the wicked muse hisself. – Like that one. I don't actually smoke…) This story is going to be a long one, and I hope to keep people on the edge of their collective seat for the duration. I hope you brought plenty of snacks.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – (ch 30 review) - Ooh, you're braver than I am, calling Mr. Antisocial Goth Boy a cutesy wutesy name! oo;; You know Nagi would hurt Schu seriously if he tried calling him that! And I'll drop a little spoiler (if you've seen Gluhen, it's not much of one): Brad and Schu are still on speaking terms 8 years hence, so… And thanks for the tip, I'll check it out!

(ch 29 review) Hmm, interesting concept on the head wound. And I'm glad you like the cliffhangers. As for "keeping it up" and what might happen between Schu and Yotan… – And, wouldn't Brad just have a cow if they did? (I did say he was originally a farm kid…)

**_may_** – You noticed the mess of the original too, eh? (They should never have let Masafumi watch " Wicked City" or "Bubblegum Crisis"...) I'm glad that I'm succeeding so far in making sense of the chaos. As for the Brad vs. Yohji dilemma, it's only going to get worse… And, thank you for not going base diving! It's a tough sport, and I'd hate to see you go splat at the bottom. Oh, and I hear that Bitter Apple is a good deterrent for the nail biting thing…

_**Lestat197 **_– (bows back)

_**Yanagi-sen**_ – LOL! I work with so many numbers, that was probably my inspiration for it… Interesting complication for Schu, ne? And, nylon rope and a horse, eh? OUCH. --;;


	32. 32

**32**

_Tell me, is something eluding you, Sunshine?  
Is this not what you expected to see?_

Tension rose up in me as I neared the apartment. A dozen fears shot through my head, racing for attention. I pushed them away. Either Brad would be here, or he would not. In any case, I couldn't stand out here in front of the door forever. But I still didn't trust my telepathy enough to contact them without broadcasting. Ah, shit.

I reached up and knocked, softly.

As though he had been standing on the other side of the door waiting for me, Brad opened the door, his face a cool mask.

I shuffled in, and stopped in my tracks. All our bags sat near the door, as though ready for travel. I turned to look at Brad.

Dark eyes regarded me with a mixture of fury and sorrow and a number of other emotions I couldn't identify right then. He looked like he hadn't slept. Brad studied my face, my clothes, my bandages, the plastic bag hanging from my fingertips. Voice low and a little raspy, he asked, "Do you believe me now?"

My blood ran cold. He'd known! The calculating bastard had known what I'd run into, and he'd sent me right to them! "Where's Nagi?" I whispered, lips numb with shock, heartbeat pounding in my head.

"Sleeping. We are officially on standby." Brad turned toward the kitchen. I could see the butt of a gun sticking out of his waistband.

"They didn't find us, did they?" I asked, barely able to breathe. "God, tell me I didn't lead them here!"

"If you had, Schuldig," Brad stated, stopping but not turning, "I would have shot you before you ever approached that door."

I stood there, watching him get a bottled water from the fridge, watching him open it and take a drink. As he returned to the living room, I forced my mind into a functional semblance of itself and asked, "Where's the disguise stuff?"

He pointed at one of the smaller bags.

"How much time do we have?"

"It's not imminent, but that could change at any time. Whatever you're going to do, I suggest you hurry."

I grabbed the bag and headed for the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, I started unpacking the hair dyes, lining them up on the counter. I grabbed the clippers and a pair of scissors, and a hairbrush, then surveyed my find as I dragged the brush through my hair. My hands were throbbing again, adding to my sense of urgency. Dropping the brush, I considered the scissors, then put them back in the bag. My hair was the only thing of me that I'd been able to keep while at Rosenkreuz. The day they stopped hauling me to the barber was the day I'd started letting it grow at will; I was not about to cut it now.

I put the bleaches back in the bag for the same reason: color was one thing, damage was another. Black wouldn't work; into the bag it went. Lighter colors wouldn't do, those were for Farf. One of the boxes showed an interesting punk look the color of seaweed. I considered that, then put the box in with the other failed contestants. I just couldn't imagine me being less conspicuous with a flowing green mane.

The darker brown won. It didn't take long to do, would last a couple of weeks, and could be stripped out again if necessary. The little plastic gloves that came in the package were hard to get over my bandages, but I managed. My hands were shaking with pain and adrenalin. I needed to do this before I lost my nerve, and before anything else went wrong. I hated covering my rebellious red, but I hated even more the thought that it might somehow betray me.

Half an hour later, I rinsed the goo out of my hair and brushed it, enjoying the silkiness the color had left behind. Not a bad tradeoff, I thought. Different color, more manageable. Fuck, I sounded like a commercial. But it looked good, and we had some brown mascara that could be used on my eyebrows and lashes to complete the disguise, so I considered the exercise a success.

When I exited the bathroom, Brad looked up from his chair in the living room and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I put the bag back with the others, then looked for the one that held my clothing. The jeans and my own sneakers got pulled out, the leather pants and damaged shoes got stuffed in. I looked for a shirt that would be easy to get in and out of, but failing to find one I decided Yohji's midi-shirt would do just fine until my shoulder mended.

Then I turned and saw Brad watching me with a scowl. Suddenly I felt naked, standing there in clothes borrowed from another man. Another man? What was I thinking? Brad was my leader, my lover. Yohji was my friend, that's all. So why did I feel so awkward?

I found the bag with Farfarello's gear and dug out one of his sleeveless jackets, then hurried to my room to find it empty except for the bed. With a sigh I realized that I would probably be going without sheets and blankets until we moved out. Well, it could be worse. At least I had a bed. Then again, it could be a whole lot better. Memories of Yohji's sofa floated up to me, and I caught myself smiling.

There was a sharp rap at my door, then Brad's voice: "We're having a meeting, Schuldig. Five minutes."

I got into my own clothes and Farf's vest, rolled Yohji's clothes into a tight roll, then returned to the living room. Avoiding Brad's gaze, I stuffed the clothing into my bag, forcing the zipper shut over it.

Farf watched me, glowering a little. I hurried over to him. His eye seemed a little foggy; not knowing what meds he was on tonight made me cautious. "Hey, mind if I borrow this?" I asked, indicating the vest.

"How'd you manage that?" he asked, indicating my shoulder.

"Long story," I grumbled, taking a seat next to him on the couch.

Nagi sat near Brad and shot me an accusing glare.

"You okay, kiddo?" I asked, throat suddenly dry.

"Yes."

I sighed. This was not off to a good start.

Brad cleared his throat. "Gentlemen," he began, "things have changed. At the signal, we will move out. I don't know when that signal will come. It looks like we have two weeks on the outside."

I wanted to ask _what signal?_ But I knew too well that interrupting Brad Crawford is not wise.

"The yakuza have come through for us time and again, but we're nearly at the end of their hospitality. To stay longer will put them in danger, and in turn endanger us. Their network of watchers will make sure we get ample warning, but will not interfere. If that phone rings," Brad said, pointing to the forbidden telephone on the kitchen bar, "you are to grab your bags and be out that door within three minutes. If I am not here, Schuldig, you will be in charge. Understood?"

My mind refused to register what he'd just said. I gaped like a fool.

"Schuldig, snap out of it!" Brad barked. "This is critical. I've Seen that they will be figuring us out in less than fourteen days. When they do, they will try to surround this apartment. When that happens, our contacts will ring that number, and we will evacuate the premises with very little time to spare. Now that you are back with us, Schuldig, tonight we will load the car with everything we don't immediately need. Leave only one bag per man. I will be relying on you to help get our team into that car and out of the area when the time comes. Do you understand me?"

I nodded. "Ja, I mean, yeah, I understand," I stammered. No wonder he hadn't wanted that phone to ring! It was a portent to disaster.

"We are not, however, going to sit here and wait for the signal. There are things we need to do outside this apartment. Do the two of you still remember that phone number I gave you?" Brad looked at me, then at Nagi.

"Hai, Crawford-san." Nagi proceeded to rattle off the number, with a sidelong glance at me.

I concentrated on memorizing it for just the moment necessary, then repeated it back, voice tight.

Brad gave me an odd look, then said, "At this time, if you notice anything out of the ordinary, you are to call that number. A car will pick you up and deliver you to our next safe house."

I prayed that I was in the apartment when that call came, or that I was with Nagi or Brad and didn't have to remember that damn number. Already it had slipped out of my head like it was greased.

"Now, Schuldig." Brad addressed me directly, eyes sharp. "I understand you have made your own contacts in this neighborhood. I trust they are reliable?"

My face flushed as I realized I had been played by the master. He knew I'd been with Yohji, he knew Yohji was Kritiker, he didn't like it personally, but professionally…the strategy was sound. "Yeah," I grunted. "They're reliable."

"Good." He made eye contact with me and held it. "If you are alone outside this apartment, and through the team link you discover that we are leaving, use your contacts and lay low. You're the one they're looking for now, the one they are most likely to find. They think that if they find our telepath, they will have the location of the team. You will of course forgive me for not telling you this before." Crawford adjusted his glasses with a smirk.

I struggled to hold back the anger and resentment I felt toward him, a man I had loved for years, in silence and in secret, and now he was using me as if I were nothing to him. I tried to find something to say. "Nice thought, if the team link was sound," I snarled.

"I suggest you work on it, then," Crawford said, voice dangerously smooth.

"How's your head, kid?" I asked, glaring at Nagi. "We have to fix the connection, you ready?"

Nagi gave Brad a pained look. "It's been better," he murmured, clearly hoping to get a reprieve.

"I am sorry, Nagi," Crawford addressed him directly, "but I need the link solid. As solid as it can get, anyway. Work with him for a little while tonight. Stop before it gets too painful."

"Hai."

With that, the meeting adjourned. Crawford went to his room and shut the door, leaving the three of us to our own discussion.

"You scared me," Nagi stated, fixing my gaze with his deep midnight eyes. "I thought they'd got you, and I couldn't do anything to stop them."

"Did they follow you at all?" I had to know, though I suspected they had not.

"Not that I know of. But don't do that again." Pain shimmered in those incredible eyes as he whispered, "Don't leave me alone again."

My heart ached. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. There was nothing I could do." I wasn't sure which incident I was referring to; in a way, it fit his entire life.

"Schuldig." Farf's voice came stronger than it had been. He was throwing off the medication, as he tended to do, and the grogginess faded quickly. "Start with me. I can't feel you in my head, if you're not mucking about on purpose. I don't like it."

Nagi took the opportunity to leave the room, and I was alone with Farfarello. I sighed and tried to relax, to find the inner whisper that was our team bond. As I'd noticed before, the thread that was Farfarello was no longer there. I reached out to his mind, found the familiar patterns, and began weaving a new thread, linking it into the tapestry that was Schwarz.

::Promise me something.:: Far's mental voice sounded flat and emotionless tonight. ::Promise me that you will let no one harm the boy.::

::We're a team, Far,:: I stated, ::of course I'll protect him.::

::I mean, even if it's me.::

I looked into his eye, saw fear within. ::Far, what's wrong?::

::I'm wrong, that's what it is. If I become a danger to the team…::

::Far, no. Absolutely not.:: I put my hands on his shoulders, wincing a little as my abused palms took in the solidness of him. ::We stay together. Period. Brad promised me,:: I added, more to convince myself than for his benefit.

He raised his hands to cup the back of my head, keeping eye contact. His mind sang in that peculiarly coherent manner that I'd never encountered in anyone but him, the logic of the damned. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. ::Do you promise?::

I hesitated.

Far looked away. "I see," he whispered. "You can't, can you. Because you don't believe it yourself."

"Far…"

"No, Schuldig. Don't play sweet with me." He glared at me, frustration and anger turning his eye a deep copper. "We are all walking dead men, some more than others. So are they, they just don't know it yet. Whatever happens, know that I have loved you most. You've been like a brother to me, a friend, and a lover. All the best, and damn little of the worst."

"Far, please, what are you trying to say?" I asked. Something about his manner bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Voice soft, Farfarello stated, "I'm losing my mind, Schuldig. More than before. I can feel the edges coming undone, and I can't stop it. Because I have loved you, you must promise that you will stop me before I harm Crawford, or the boy. Do not allow me to be the death of Schwarz."

I felt myself nod. "Okay, I promise, Far. I will stop you before you hurt the team, if it ever comes to that. But before that time comes, I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you alive, and as sane as you've ever been." I almost laughed; the thought had transcended into the absurd, for me.

As if he'd picked it up from our link, Far said, "You laugh, and I'll bite you."

I leaned down and embraced this man, this crazed, dangerous man who saw me as one of his three anchors in this world. Pressing against him, I relaxed and breathed in his scent. Not sandalwood tonight, instead there was a hint of animal musk about him, pungent and masculine. Not a rational smell, for him. I'd come to know the subtleties of his chemistry, and his body odor was a very accurate measure of his madness.

Powerful arms wrapped around me, holding me close. He pulled me off my feet and into his lap, turning me easily without offending my damaged shoulder. I let my mind drift against his, riding the gentle swell of his thoughts. They weren't terribly disordered tonight. He was probably going into a logic-induced rage soon, I knew. But at the moment, he was just Far, my weird violent friend.

Far kissed me on the mouth, his lips full and soft upon mine. I moaned a little. That man had the most delicious kiss! He had damn little inhibition in anything, and his passions expressed themselves with an almost innocent ferocity. I deepened the kiss, tasting his mouth.

Gently, slowly, Far disengaged from the kiss and set me on my feet, then rose to stand in front of me. One hand on the small of my back, the other behind my head, he claimed my mouth again, drawing out soft moans and whimpers from my throat. I was falling into him, the depth of his psyche pulling me under until I reached a primal understanding of his mind. With brilliant clarity, the essence that was Farfarello, that had once been a boy named Jei, swirled around my mind, and madness became reason.

Coolness where there had been heat brought me back to my own head. I blinked, momentarily confused.

Far stood before me, smiling slightly. He watched me struggle with my own anchors for a moment, as I tried to confirm what was my own and what had been his. Then he asked, "How's the link?"

A disappointed moan escaped my lips. I had missed the rough passion of this man, something we had so casually shared before, in the days of high living and security. I still craved him. My fingers drifted upward to touch my mouth as my body tried to remember his kiss for a few moments longer.

"I won't, now. I won't trespass there," he stated, his tone gentle but firm. "You should have figured that out."

I regarded him with puzzled eyes as the lingering swirl of his madness slowly left me.

"You're dangerous," Far whispered, watching me, "because you're honest, Schu. You're dangerous because you don't know what you want. You want Crawford, and you want me, and you want…someone else. You won't always get your way, and I won't take what isn't mine. But you'll need to make up your mind while you still have one to make. Don't worry, though. I'll always listen if you need to scream."

Hot frustration coursed through me, made molten by the brush with Farfarello's mind. I gasped, then felt everything snap back into place as I became wholly me again. Damn, I always went too far in with him. Far, too far… His words echoed in my head. I sighed. "You are a wiser man than I am, Far. Though that comes as no surprise."

"You're right, it doesn't," he said with a grin. "You're about as wise as a starving man. There comes a time when you can't listen to your head anymore, or you'll die for lack of nourishment. You live on that borderline. Always have." Gentle hands rose to my injured shoulder. He probed cautiously. "Keep the vest. I'd hate to see you try a real shirt just yet. Actually, it would be funny as hell, but the cursing would get Crawford angry, and that's losing its charm of late."

I tested the link I'd reestablished, and found it weaker than I'd like. I had to remind myself that this was a pretty decent start, really. When we'd first set up our team link, it had taken several sessions and everyone had headaches by the time it was done. "You reading to Nagi tonight?" I asked aloud, not wanting to talk about my misadventure of the previous night, and hoping his inspection of my arm was not a prelude to questions.

He looked down and murmured, "No, I don't think so. He's a little afraid of me these last few days. That's why I wanted you to promise. Don't forget, you did promise!" Agitation rose up in him, and he gripped my shoulders tightly.

I let out a sharp gasp of pain. Far blinked, then released his hold on me.

"You promised." That said, he turned and strode to the bathroom, leaving me alone with a rumpled couch and a black and silent television.

And pain. Heaps of pain, radiating from my shoulder. I gritted my teeth and went to the kitchen in search of anything to take pills with. Tap water would do, if there was nothing in the fridge. But we still had a modest supply of bottled water, so I grabbed one and went back to our bags, hoping to find something quickly.

All I found was the ibuprofen and penicillin Yohji had given me. Too bad there wasn't any codeine; Far really didn't know his own strength, sometimes. I took some of the medicine, all rendered foul-smelling and vile-tasting by the antibiotic capsules, and washed it down with a grimace.

"Schuldig."

**A/N**:

_Tell me, is something eluding you, Sunshine?  
Is this not what you expected to see?_

The relationship between Schu and Brad is growing tense…but they seem to like it that way. Brad's mood courtesy of "In the Flesh?" from Pink Floyd's _The Wall_.

More music notes –

_"You're dangerous," Far whispered, watching me, "because you're honest, Schu. You're dangerous because you don't know what you want…"_ – he's quoting "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses" from _Achtung Baby_ by U2, a distinctly Farf sort of band.

And a little nod to the manga while I'm at it. – What do you think, folks? Would the green hair have been less conspicuous? Or is he hopeless?


	33. 33

**33**

_If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes,  
you'll just have to claw your way through this disguise._

I turned. Crawford stood in his doorway, shirtless, the dim light casting him in silhouette. One shadowy hand beckoned me toward him.

I approached slowly, not knowing what to expect. His attitude bothered me. He'd been going from hot to cold, leaving me totally uncertain as to where I stood with him. That he wanted me was not in doubt. Whether it was as a man or as an operative, I really wasn't sure anymore.

He led me into his room and shut the door. I shivered a little, the pain still fresh enough to bother me.

In a low voice, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"It hurts," I told him, suddenly not sure what we were talking about. "I took some ibuprofen. I'll live."

His eyes darkened as he strode toward me. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me, but instead he gripped my arms and crushed his lips against mine. That kiss was all about claiming, not passion; he imposed his will on me, and I complied.

I felt something inside me buckle and snap, setting free a silent cascade of tears: I would give him whatever he demanded of me, just like any other man at Rosenkreuz. I wanted to give him my heart, my soul, but this moment made me realize that I didn't own either of those to give anymore. Einmal Rosen, immer Rosen, und ich bin schuldig. We were both broken men.

Crawford pulled me against his chest, and I melted into him, lacking the will to move away. I could deny him nothing. Part of me knew where this was headed, and I tried hard not to listen to it. I loved this man, had loved him, would always love him, no matter the consequences. If I had to tell myself that love was returned, so be it. I wasn't ready to let go of the illusion just yet, if it were not real.

Strong hands tore at my clothes, removing them with haste and flinging them aside. His mouth devoured my throat, my collarbone, nipping and sucking, leaving an array of bruises like a necklace. I gasped at the pleasure of it, finally silencing the little internal voice that tried to plead reason with me. My hands tangled in Brad's hair as his teeth closed on my left nipple and I cried out.

He herded me toward the bed, unfastening his pants as we went. I stepped out of my jeans in time for him to shove me up onto the bare mattress; like my bed, his had been stripped of covers too. Brad took notice that I wore no underclothes and frowned sharply, as though accusing me of losing them somewhere.

Then he was on me, hard and strong and demanding. His hands gripped my hips, lifting me, then he thrust his full length into me, dry.

I tasted blood on my lip where I'd bit it, trying not to cry out. Tears seeped into my tangled hair as he thrust again, and again. I tried to touch his thoughts, to find some comfort there, but his shields held me at bay. He knew what I could do, and he was keeping me out. That distance hurt worst of all.

By the movement of his body, I knew he was already close. All I wanted was for him to finish, be done with me, let me alone, as if he were just another predator in the hallowed halls of hell.

Thick soft hair brushed across my face, then his lips pressed wetly against mine. He sucked softly at my cut lip, darted his tongue over the rough spot. The kiss was almost tender; in surprise I felt my mind flow against his shields again, and this time I felt a powerful tide rising within him, not one of sex but something foreign to me. This felt timeless and potent, unstoppable. It lifted my heart until I almost, almost understood.

Then Brad moaned into my mouth and came, thrusting hard and fast, his shields melting around me. My mind surged, though not so directly as that first time; I was too confused this night, too lost. Again I felt that amazing something within his mind, like a caress of destiny; distracted, my body responded to the overwhelming rush of sensations and I came hard, my legs wrapping tight about him and holding him right there, right there.

He gathered me into his arms, all ferocity and dominance gone now, replaced by something gentle and warm. His eyes shone darkly as though lit from within.

My mind whirled, trying to figure out what just happened. It had seemed like rape, but not, at the same time. That he had claimed me was not in doubt: I would wear the marks of his passion for days. I was familiar with violence; hell, everyone who's spent a day at Rosenkreuz knows it by name. And I was familiar with sex: it was my favorite weapon, and my favorite shield. But this, coming after the coldness of earlier and the mixed signals of the past weeks – this confused the hell out of me.

"Schuldig," Brad whispered, "don't ask. Whatever you're thinking right now, don't ask it."

I trembled. I had been about to ask him why.

His eyes darkened, and I realized he was weeping. I reached up to touch his cheek, to paint with the salty tears. He turned his head and caught my wet fingertips in his mouth. Brad closed his eyes, allowed the tears to stream freely, and suckled at my fingers.

I got a little excited again, in spite of the chaos of the night. Still deep within me, I could feel Brad growing hard again, too. I moaned. My legs trembled helplessly when I tried to pull him in deeper, though; every muscle in my body was complaining.

Brad leaned down and kissed me deeply, tenderly, before pulling partway out and gliding back in so very gently. He held me in his arms, kissing my face, my neck, hands buried in my hair.

Again my mind spun in confusion. First a rape that is not a rape, now this? What was he doing? Could he be crazier than Far?

He thrust, and I welcomed him. He reached between us and stroked my cock, paying special attention to the tender flesh normally hidden in the folds of foreskin. My back arched in erotic pleasure, all worries momentarily forgotten.

This time, he held motionless as he came, his eyes shut, every muscle taut. He was beautiful. He squeezed me and stroked, running his thumb around the head, and I came again, not so forcefully as before but with the same intense crash against his mind. His shields held fast, but I could still feel his pleasure and that nameless surge coursing through him like lightning.

Before the high of climax faded, he leaned down and murmured against my ear, "You're mine. I'll share if I have to, because that's part of who you are, but where it counts, you're mine." For a moment I felt a dark wind circling through his mind; then he strengthened his shields and the sensation was gone. "Never forget, and never doubt it, Schu. No matter what happens."

I gazed up into his eyes. I desperately wanted this to be something real, something pure. Something untainted by our pasts. "Brad," I whispered, "do you love me?"

His eyes went dark again, and cold, but not before I saw what could only be fear rush through their depths. Before he could speak, I pulled his head down and kissed him, fiercely, possessively. I didn't want to know what he was afraid of, when he thought of loving me. It didn't matter. As far as I was concerned, I had my answer, and for that I would endure anything.

**A/N:**

_If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes,  
you'll just have to claw your way through this disguise._

A direct continuation of the last chapter, there are things to be seen here… Remember: whatever else he is, Brad Crawford is the most powerful male precognitive Rosenkreuz has ever tangled with. You almost get the feeling he knows how this story is going to end…

Translation notes –

_Einmal Rosen, immer Rosen, und ich bin schuldig._ – Once of the Rose, always of the Rose, and I am guilty. (The first part referring to Rosenkreuz, the Rose Cross. Then, a moment of self-condemnation; if he'd meant his name, it would have been _ich heiße Schuldig_ – I am called Schuldig.)


	34. 34

**34**

_Cold-hearted orb that rules the night, removes the color from our sight_

_Red is gray, and yellow, white. But we decide which is right, and which is an illusion._

Brad seemed oddly protective over the next couple of days. He watched as I practiced the mindlinks with Nagi and Farfarello, and I really didn't know which of us he was watching.

After the first try with Nagi, it got easier for him, the link strengthening itself with every contact. He had a little headache by the time I was satisfied it was good enough, but even Nagi admitted it was a small price to pay.

Far was more difficult. Something about his injury or his madness kept fighting me; the more I tried to reinforce the bond, the fainter it got. Finally I decided to settle for a just-barely-there sort of link. I hoped it would be enough, at least until we could try for something more later on.

My body mended, though slowly, the cuts on my hands stubbornly refusing to go away without a fight. I took penicillin until the smell of it made me want to throw up. But, hour by hour, my hands became more usable, which was at least something. I flexed them mercilessly to make sure they didn't tighten up on me.

My shoulder was another story. It seemed to get worse, not better. The bruise remained dark, and the joint ached bitterly. Brad asked if I wanted to see a medic, but somehow I really didn't want to. Brad hadn't forced the issue. He'd simply sent for some pain pills and anti-inflammatory medicine, courtesy of the yakuza messenger boy. I knew the damn thing wasn't broken, it wasn't even dislocated, but it hurt like hell. It occurred to me that Brad's roughness that night may have aggravated it. With any luck, a few quiet days would see it start to respond a little better.

We had gotten a few deliveries from that yakuza courier, among them more hair dyes and makeup, batteries, music, and several newspapers from around the world. Brad studied the papers intently, though he never said what he was looking for. Now, three days after my run-in with Esset, Brad showed me a tiny article in a British paper: "Interpol seeking corporate burglar".

"Good thing you dyed your hair," Brad said in a low voice. "They're looking for a red-haired European man in connection with an attempted break-in at a Tokyo corporation. I thought they'd leak it to the officials, and I hoped someone would leak it to the press. Seems we have an unwitting friend out there."

Something tickled at the edges of my memory, but refused to step forward. I shrugged it off. "So what do we do now?"

"We gather more information and get ready to leave the country," Brad stated, leafing through his papers again. "They're still too close for my liking, but unfortunately these are the kind of hunters who try to flush their prey out of hiding. If we leave too soon, they'll notice."

"You mean," Farf's voice preceded him into the kitchen, "like reptiles who see movement?"

Brad frowned a little. From the Irishman's thoughts, I picked up a blur of movie scenes, flashing between a huge dinosaur with big-ass teeth and a couple of smaller, vicious looking critters with oversized toenails. "When did you see that movie, Far?" I asked, recalling that this was one of those on his "NO" list.

"I don't know, before the mess with that girl, I think. Back when I could watch movies with the volume up." He rummaged through the fridge as he talked. "It was good. Sort of a nature program, really."

Nature program? I looked over at Brad, who was trying to ignore us. I got the feeling that the topic was now officially closed. "Yeah, something like that," I murmured, not wanting Far to get stuck on the subject. Images of hunting were not safe for him to have running through his head, whether the hunter was a man or an animal. Or a special-effect.

"So, Crawford, what do we do now?" Far asked. "Where do we go from here?"

Brad looked up, distracted. I could feel the hum of energy and tension that meant he was in the middle of visions. I held my hand up toward Far and sent, ::Wait up, my friend.::

We watched Brad sit and stare for a few moments, then he blinked and focused on me. "Did you say something, Schuldig?"

"Far was asking what's next," I told him, longing to ask about his vision but knowing he'd only tell me when and what he chose.

"Oh, I…" Brad's voice trailed off, his awareness again ensnared by his gift.

I frowned. This was unusual. He didn't tend to get series of visions like this. Suddenly I remembered he'd said something about having visions non-stop since the beach, when he'd been alone without means of telling time. He'd only mentioned it the one time. I'd been so worried about Nagi's head and my own, I had totally forgotten.

Farfarello slowly and quietly rose from his seat and slipped out of the kitchen, an uncomfortable look on his face. I didn't blame him. Seeing our leader, the man we depended upon, not acting quite right was an unsettling thing. I started to scoot my chair closer to him, trying not to make any noise.

Brad blinked a few times, looking like a sleeper who couldn't wake up easily. He gazed at me, perplexed.

Whenever he got hit hard with his visions, Brad needed to get grounded as quickly as possible. I looked around for something suitable. We didn't have a clock or a calendar in the kitchen; on impulse, I showed him the newspaper he'd been reading. "It's around June 7th," I told him, cursing the fact that I wasn't entirely sure of the date myself, or how old the paper actually was. "It's nearly lunch time. Do you know where you are, Brad?"

He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. "June 8th, Schuldig," he murmured. "June… What year?" Brad studied the newspaper a moment, then relaxed some. He pushed his glasses up, then sighed.

"You all right?" I asked. I'd never seen him this fried before, and it worried me.

"I will be. It's just hard, when the Sight doesn't want to play nice," he whispered, fatigue sinking in fast. "When they come, they come in bunches, and they usually contradict. It hasn't been this bad since puberty."

I took hold of his hands. They were cold and a little shaky. "Brad, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about what happened to you. I was so concerned about Nagi and Far, and my own shields. I thought you were okay. You acted okay," I added, my tone a little accusing.

"As if you're not keeping secrets, Schu." Brad regarded me with weary eyes. "You don't know the date. You're having trouble with that phone number. What haven't you told me?"

"I'm losing numbers. I have trouble with anything over one digit." I sighed and looked down. "I can barely get to twenty, but after that it starts to fall apart for good. Phone numbers slide right out of my head, and I don't trust addresses."

"Since the tower?" he asked.

"Yeah, only since then. You know I was good with numbers before, Brad. I could memorize phone numbers, bank account numbers, you name it. It's like there's a hole in my mind. What happened to us, Brad?" I looked into his eyes, more than a little frightened now. We'd avoided talking about this so far, but the time for silence was over. "What did they do to us?"

For a moment, Brad seemed almost tragic. Then he said, "I don't know, Schu. What bothers me is, what are they still doing?"

"I don't follow," I told him.

"Someone is messing with the flow of events," he said. "I don't mean that in any kind of surreal, sci-fi fashion, so don't even go there. But there is a very real effect that comes when several precognitives tune in on the same time-frame. Either they all get the same vision crystal clear, or they all get absolute chaos: the very act of Seeing changes the outcome."

"Butterflies."

We both looked toward the doorway. Farfarello stood there, watching us. By way of clarifying, he stated, "It's simple quantum physics. In theory, if a butterfly flaps its wings in Japan, it could cause storms over the mainland. Now, if you want to get complicated, go to the mouse."

I looked at Brad. Brad looked at me. The clarifying hadn't worked.

Farf sighed and rejoined us at the table, swinging a chair around and straddling it. "As you know, Einstein initially rejected quantum theory because it leads to an apparent absurdity, that of a mouse changing the entire universe, just by looking up at the night sky. Now, if you have a squadron of precogs all trying to figure out where we are, or where we're going to be, I'd say we're talking mice, gentlemen."

"Where the hell did you learn that shit, Farf?" I asked. Fuck the mouse, he'd left me behind on the goddamned butterfly!

He gave me a pitying sort of look that had a perverse undercurrent of high humor and said, "I thought you Germans were supposed to be good at physics."

Brad excused himself, apparently not wanting to go any further into Einstein versus quantum theory. Or not wanting me to see him laugh. I wasn't sure.

Two steps toward the doorway, Crawford's knees gave way and he toppled to the floor.

"Brad!" I shouted, bolting around the table.

Farf was closer. He knelt beside our leader and checked his condition with practiced fingers. "He didn't hit his head too bad, there's no bump, and I didn't hear it hit. His pulse is a little fast, though, and his breathing's shallow."

I reached out to caress Brad's slack face. His cheek was cold, but his breath panted hot against my fingers. He seemed to be going into shock. I debated calling out to Nagi, to have him bring us a blanket, but I didn't want him to see Brad like this. It would only make him worry. "I'll be right back," I told Far, then sprinted out to our bags.

By the time I returned with the blanket, Brad was coming around. He gazed up at Farf, then at me, then asked, "What time is it?"

Farf lifted Brad's hand, turning it so the watch showed clear. Brad studied the glowing digits intensely, then nodded. "We're okay," he whispered, taking the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. "Schu, can you find me some Tylenol?"

I hurried back out to our supplies, fished out the headache pills, and almost collided with Brad as Farf helped him to the couch. A trip to the kitchen, a bottle of water, and back out to the couch; Brad took the pills from me with a very shaky hand.

"Brad, what happened?" I asked. "What did you See?" I had to know. If it was strong enough to knock Brad out, it couldn't be a good thing.

"Mice," he murmured. "Too many mice." With that, he slid back into unconsciousness.

Far regarded me over Brad's still form. "What do we do now?" he asked me. "What if the phone rings?"

"If that happens before he wakes up," I replied, reminded sharply of a similar discussion with Brad about a sleeping Nagi, "you carry him."

Farf and I kept watch over our leader for several increasingly tense hours. When Nagi came out of his room and saw that Crawford was down, the momentary flash of panic nearly blinded me. I explained to him as fast and as clearly as I could that Brad had had a powerful series of visions, and it had left him drained and a little shocky. I got the feeling the kid didn't totally buy that explanation, but he backed off and let Farf and me fret in peace.

Finally, around sunset, Brad's eyes fluttered open. He was lying on the couch, his head in my lap, and Farfarello was sitting on the floor beside us. Brad gazed up at me, questioning.

"You blacked out," I told him. "You've been out all day. Your visions took you down."

"Ah, yes," he said, voice soft. "Schu, this changes things." He lifted a hand to my face. "Farfarello is correct. There are mice in the works. Rosenkreuz is trying to outmaneuver us. Outmaneuver me. Damn. If it's this hard to get a clear line on things now, what will it be if they figure out it's working?"

"So what can we do, Crawford?" Far asked. "How do we fight them?"

"Let me sleep on that," Brad murmured, then yawned up at me. "I need some real sleep tonight. And before you suggest it, no, Schuldig." He added that last with a slight smile, his fingers catching a lock of my hair and tugging it.

"It would help you sleep, you know," I bantered, knowing full well what he was vetoing.

"So would a kick to the head, but I'm not in the mood for that either." With some difficulty, he sat up, then got to his feet, pulling the blanket around him like a cloak.

Farfarello braced him carefully, then pulled Brad's arm up across his own shoulders and started walking him to his room. I followed, not wanting Brad to be alone this night.

Once Brad had been deposited on his bed, Farfarello excused himself from the room. As Brad was already asleep again, I invited myself to stay, snuggling close under that one blanket.

I lay awake, listening to his breathing. Absently my fingers stroked his hair, felt the strong lines of his face. It was a little hard to believe that we'd come to this, we, the proud men of Schwarz, laid low by our own gifts. I leaned down and kissed the forehead of the man I'd fallen in love with so many years ago. It was like another lifetime now.

It wasn't ever easy to see a teammate in distress, but to see Brad Crawford like this really hurt. Especially since I knew there wasn't anything any of us could do for him.

I hadn't planned on sleeping. When I startled awake, it took me a while to figure out where I was, and why. Dim light from the window cast everything in shades of grey.

From beside me came a small sound: a weak and frightened cry. I realized that Brad must be having a nightmare, if not more visions in his dreams. Then again, those were often just as bad as nightmares, leaving him weary and with a lingering haunted feeling the day after.

I reached down to try to wake him, then paused. I really didn't know what to expect, if I disrupted a dream vision. He was exhausted enough; I didn't want to hurt him.

He moaned, a thin sound of horror that dissolved into rapid breaths. I thought he was trying to say something, but it sounded more like broken wailing than anything I could decipher. This was more than I could bear; cautiously I prodded his shoulder. "Brad? Wake up," I said in a low voice.

Brad struggled and cried out, but did not wake.

"Brad, damn it, wake the hell up!" This was starting to unnerve me. Against all my training, I was ready to go in after him, anything to make it stop. I gripped his shoulder and brushed against his mind, the unrealness of the dreamworld pulling seductively at my consciousness.

Brad's shields slammed up as his fist connected with my jaw. I toppled over on the bed, my mind recoiling into the beginnings of a psi-backlash headache. Now I was the one moaning, and Brad the one sitting bolt upright, trying to get his bearings.

"Schuldig, what the hell?" Brad snapped, glaring at me and panting roughly. "What's going on?"

"You were having a nightmare," I gasped, pain rolling through my head in waves. "I tried to wake you up."

"You should know better than that, Schuldig," he stated, voice cold. "Especially with me."

In spite of the headache, I staggered from his room. I couldn't stay in there. He'd been suffering, I'd tried to help, and he couldn't manage anything close to a "thank you." I found the headache pills and downed a few, then huddled in a kitchen chair waiting for the damn things to do something.

Brad did not come out to check on me.

After nearly an hour, the pain had receded to an almost bearable level. I rummaged through my bags, in desperate need of something to distract me. That horrid wailing echoed in my head, sounding vaguely Japanese, though I couldn't make out the words. On top of the headache, that cry was about to do me in. It reminded me too much of my own nightmares.

Finally I found my discs and player. To my vague surprise, there was a new disc among them, another one by that Egyptian-goth band. It looked about as weird as the other one. I smiled a little at this unexpected present. Then again, he probably Saw that I'd need it. Before my thoughts could drift totally back to Brad, I took my music to my bare bedroom and shut myself in.

**A/N:**

_Cold-hearted orb that rules the night, removes the color from our sight_

_Red is gray, and yellow, white. But we decide which is right, and which is an illusion._

Usually heard at the end of "Nights in White Satin," "Late Lament" from the Moody Blues album _Days of Future Passed_ weaves a haunting tale of time lost, and the anticipation of more to follow. What Brad Crawford Sees, he might or might not say. Most times he prefers to carry his burden of a gift alone, for as a guide to action it can only be a fickle and treacherous one: acting on a vision could be the right thing to do, or it could be a very wrong thing to do, and one suspects Brad does not often know which is right…

Movie credit: that would be "Jurassic Park" that Farf is referring to as a "nature program". oO

And now, a word from our sponsor: Tylenol®, the favorite headache remedy of Schwarz. (Brad's too much of a snob to buy the generic.)

For some insight into Farfarello's logic and a crash course in quantum physics, sociology, psychology, and/or taoism, check out Quantum Psychology by Robert Anton Wilson. It's high on Farf's preferred books list. –

**Review Mailbag:**

Happy holidays, all! The "soundtrack" is now up at my homepage, if you want to take a peek and a listen. It is spoilerful, but I can guarantee you won't figure everything out just from sneaking a look at it. Come by, if you dare.

_**Lestat**_ – Yeah, unlike the anime, my Schuldig doesn't leap tall buildings in a single bound, backwards. And I'm not done with Schu's underwear problems, either. Side note – I sort of got the idea for Schu's hair from a fan art by Heath – it's still red in the picture, but it's soft and silky, not punked out. (We're hosting that artist at HopeForlorn, by the way. Come and see, it's lovely stuff.)

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – (ch 31 review) Oh, the War for Schu is only a tiny battle in a much larger field, I'm afraid. You like pain? I'm gonna give them pain. Remember, Farfarello hasn't totally snapped yet… oO;; And, whenever I can get my dear webmaster MonkeyCat offline so I can go look it up, I'm gonna read up on the seawater thing. It's kind of zen that the birthplace of all life on this planet holds the keys to health, ne?

So, did chapter 34 answer a few of your questions? ;; I hope so, because I really don't want your brain to explode!

_**Mistress Of Anime**_ – I'm so glad you could join us! I'll be working on a Weiss-side story, too, that will parallel this one timewise, so there will be some Omi stuff coming down the pike. Also, if you've seen Gluhen, it won't spoil anything if I tell you that there will be some Omi moments later on, when that storyline comes into play.

_**May**_ – smile Yeah, me like Yotan bunches.

_**Yanagi-sen**_ – Oh, yes. I am evil. – If you want to know how screwed they are, check out the "film soundtrack" at my homepage. Be warned, it's one huge spoiler…


	35. 35

**35**

_what are you running from?_

Sleep came to me in a moldy shroud, with the face of the night hag. I lay still, eyes shut tight and listening to my heartbeat echo against silent headphones. The batteries must have given out, leaving me alone with my ghosts. God damn, not a good night, I thought, trying to convince myself that there was no spectre waiting for me to open my eyes. And just maybe, if I lay there long enough with my eyes closed, real dreamless sleep would carry me to safer places.

Early morning sunlight intruded on my sleep, sent fragmented nightmares back to the depths of my psyche once more. I blinked a crusty eye at the merciful yet highly offensive brightness. My head felt like I'd tied one on last night. Damn psi backlash hangover.

When I opened my door, I found a bottle of water and a bottle of headache pills sitting outside. Lying next to them was a gun in a lightweight shoulder rig. I frowned.

"I'm giving you your sidearm back," Brad stated in a strong voice from the direction of the kitchen. "I don't foresee anything happening directly, but I want you to have it."

I took the weapon into my room, then went out to my bags. "Maybe we should unpack again, Brad," I grumbled. "This is getting old."

After dragging one of the bags back to my room and dumping it out on the bed, I tried to find street clothes that would make the holster less noticeable. Then I remembered my shoulder. Maybe I could get into a t-shirt, and wear Farf's sleeveless jacket over it, I thought. That ended up being more difficult than I'd imagined. Spying Yohji's midi-shirt, I slipped it on instead, then slung the holster into place. Even though the holster was damn scratchy on my skin, something about having a gun nestled against my ribs gave me comfort. I may not be the best shot, but I was better at that than hand-to-hand, especially now.

"Ah, shit!" I growled at myself. I'm a right-handed draw, and my shoulder didn't want to flex that way without an argument. With effort and no small amount of pain, I managed to wrestle the gun out of the holster, though my arm shook too much to even bother aiming it. With a mental snarl, I unfastened the holster and studied it.

It was reversible. Of course. Brad knew I'd have to go left-handed for a while, and this told me my shoulder was going to take its damn sweet time.

Once I got everything situated again, the gun resting under my wounded shoulder, I tried the vest for effect. It fit over the holster admirably. On impulse, I grabbed my disc player. It still had that weird new disc in it. I slid it into one of the vest's oversized pockets, then folded my headphones and stuffed them in with it. Whatever the day held in store, I was determined to be ready.

Now that I was dressed for action, I went in search of Brad. I couldn't help but think about the past twenty-four hours. If that's the kind of hell he'd been enduring in silence, it was no wonder he'd been running hot and cold. I knew that precognitives usually end about as badly as telepaths, statistically speaking. We could both look forward to eventually going stark raving mad, if we didn't commit suicide first. Brad also had the prospect of blindness ahead of him, while I might lose my mind literally and fall into someone else's head for good. Not pleasant thoughts, but the harder I tried not to think about them, the more insistent they became. I could almost hear one of my instructors from Rosenkreuz explaining the warning signs of impending breakdown; with a start, I realized that Brad and I were both halfway there.

Brad was in the kitchen, cooking something involving eggs. I came in and rummaged in the fridge for some juice, though what I really wanted was to rummage through Brad's head and see which one of us was crazier.

"Before you say it, no, I'm not." Brad regarded me with calm eyes. "I do know the warning signs as well as you do, and you're not, either. This is just a difficult time for the team, Schuldig. We'll get through this."

"Damn, am I leaking again?" I muttered, becoming quite aggravated with myself.

Brad smiled and said, "No, you're just predictable."

"So, what's up, doc?" I asked with a slight grin, hoping he hadn't foreseen that. Then, more seriously: "Why do I need the gun?"

He didn't meet my eyes as he said, "I have some business I need to attend to a few days from now. I'll be taking Farfarello with me."

I almost dropped my drink. "Business? What the hell kind of business? How long are you planning to be gone? I don't like this, Brad! Not one damn bit!"

"It is not," he stated, "for you to like, Schuldig. It is, however, something that cannot be delayed any longer. And unfortunately, I can't tell you any more until I get back."

"Fuck you, Brad! You tell me now!" This couldn't be happening, he'd promised he wouldn't leave me behind!

"Schu," Brad said, voice low and calm, "Nagi can't travel yet, and I won't leave him here alone. I need a bodyguard, and I won't leave Farfarello with Nagi. Do you understand me?"

I wilted, all anger draining away into something clammy and cold. "Where will you be?"

"I can't risk saying it. Just trust me, I've Seen my return to Japan. But I'm running out of time. I'll explain everything later." He set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. "Now, for today, just put the whole thing out of your thoughts. I'll tell you when I'm going, and you can worry then. At the moment, I need you to escort Nagi out to another public access terminal."

Breakfast had lost what little appeal it had initially had. I gave him the plate back and asked, "When do you want us to go?"

"They should be open by the time you get there."

Nagi received me at his door already dressed for public view. Today he wore no makeup, and his hair was an unembellished black. He had on a student uniform, making him look like any other young teenager. As long as no one noticed his eyes.

"Chibi, ever think of wearing colored contact lenses?" I asked in jest.

"Crawford's already ordered some."

I sighed. "For everyone?" The thought of putting something on my eyeball squicked me right the hell out.

"Don't be such a child, Schuldig," Nagi scolded. "We'll do what Crawford tells us to do."

"And we'll like it, right?"

"Schu," Brad called, "a moment?"

I tuned in to his thought pattern. ::Ja, Brad?::

I could feel his mental headshake. ::Schuldig, be careful. Don't go looking for trouble. If you feel someone looking for you…:: He paused, and I picked up an image from Farf's dinosaur movie. ::If you feel someone looking, stay very, very still. If that doesn't work, run like hell. But don't reach out and look for them first, or you might find them today.::

I took a deep breath and nodded, grateful that this conversation was not out loud. I didn't think Nagi would trust me too well if he heard any of it. ::Understood, Brad. I'll be a good little mammal and hide.::

Aloud Brad said, "Be safe, you two."

We left the apartment in silence. Again I followed behind Nagi, modifying the thoughts of passersby as needed.

As we neared the little bakery, my stomach growled. ::Hey, chibi?::

::Schuldig.::

::Go in there and buy me something.::

I didn't have to see him roll his eyes. ::Schuldig, we're supposed to be working.::

::And if I don't eat, someone will hear my stomach. Come on, chibi, please?:: I wheedled, only partially out of hunger; I wanted to see if I could push him.

Nagi heaved a sigh and turned toward the bakery. ::Okay, but you have to keep the trash in your pocket or something. No fingerprints, remember?::

I followed him in and pointed out which treat I wanted. The lady at the counter smiled at Nagi, thinking he was just the cutest little boy she'd seen in days. I made sure she thought he was a good deal younger than he really was, and that she'd remember his eyes as unremarkable brown.

Nagi managed to pass me the bun without being noticed, and I tore into it ravenously. We continued on our way to the library, and its anonymous internet access. I did manage to finish my food before going in, and stuffed the wrapper into another large pocket.

Over the next hour or so, Nagi searched the internet for Brad's needed information. I didn't know exactly what he was after, and I didn't care. My job was guarding Nagi, and right now it was boring as hell. Being unnoticed did not suit me, but I did it well, for Nagi's sake. I resisted the temptation to search for that other telepath; Brad would kill me if the Esset operative didn't.

As soon as he indicated he was finished, we made our way back toward the apartment. About halfway there, I caught wind of something, not quite a telepathic search, but _something_. ::Hold up, chibi,:: I sent. This didn't feel right. ::Turn here, would you?::

Nagi didn't ask; he trusted that tone from me and obeyed without hesitation. ::Where next, Schu?::

I guided him through a series of alleys and back streets until I thought we were both lost. Nagi picked up that thought and sent a disgusted grumble. ::I don't get lost, Schuldig. Are we going back now?::

Without sending my mind out searching, I had no way of knowing if we were being watched, or followed, or merely passing too close to someone dangerous, and that bothered me. ::Not yet, kiddo.:: I looked around for someplace to lie low. ::Hey, go into the bookstore.::

As we entered the shop, I thought about something I'd picked up in Rosenkreuz: for every obvious entrance, find four exits. From the shopkeeper's mind I learned that there was one in back leading to an alley, and stairs up to an apartment with a fire escape into the same alley. Count the front door as an exit, and we could always go up to the rooftops. No, on second thought I vetoed that one: they watched the skyline.

::Schuldig?::

::Huh?::

::You okay? You're tense.:: Nagi watched me closely.

::Yeah, kiddo. Just trying to make sure we don't get trapped in here.::

::If we do, I'll bring the building down,:: he informed me with no concession to his injuries. ::Hell, I'll tear the city down. They won't take me back there, Schu. I'll die first.::

::I won't let them get you.:: I stood a little closer to him, wishing I could hold him and give him some reassurance. Then again, I had to remember that Nagi wasn't just a kid, he was a trained Esset operative and a member of Schwarz.

Damn, if I could just search around and see if there was anyone nearby!

Nagi tried to act casual, browsing among the books. I paced, trying to figure out what to do next. Then I stopped, nearly shouting at myself for being an idiot. ::Brad? Can you hear me?::

The reply came, faint with distance, but unmistakably Brad. ::I hear you, Schuldig. What's wrong?::

::I thought we were about to run into something, so Nagi and I are holed up in a bookstore. Can you See anything? Can we get back to the apartment?::

::One moment.:: Brad broke the connection.

I waited, then waited some more. I didn't want to reestablish the link while he was trying to push his visions. That would leave me disoriented and I couldn't risk being less than sharp. When I felt I had waited long enough, I sent, ::Anything?::

::No, but make it quick. Leave now. Buy nothing.::

I let the link with Brad remain active as I turned my attention to Nagi; I had to test it, if it was ever to be useful to us again. ::Chibi, go. Now. Be cool. Head straight home.::

Nagi put down the book he'd been pretending to look at, checked his watch, grumbled something about being late and hurried out, bowing apologetically to the shopkeeper. He kept up the late student act, alternately looking at his watch and muttering to himself. It occurred to me that I didn't even know the school schedule anymore; I hoped Nagi knew his own cover well enough for the both of us. Then again, if he didn't, he wouldn't have worn the school uniform today. I followed, keeping us as unseen as possible.

We made it to the apartment. As Brad opened the door, I felt a thin chill of fear: someone was behind me.

I grabbed my gun and whirled around, dropping to a crouch and aiming upward.

The hallway was empty.

I drew a deep, shuddering breath and backed into the apartment. Brad secured the door behind me.

::Schuldig, what the hell was that about?:: Brad asked.

That's right, I hadn't closed down the psi-link. At least that was working right, even if my instincts were out of whack. ::I felt someone there, Brad.::

::Don't jump at shadows, it'll drive you crazy,:: Brad stated. ::But I have to admit, that was a pretty clean left-handed fast-draw.::

::Screw you, Brad.:: The adrenalin faded from my blood, leaving me weak and shaky. "Are we done for the day? Because I could damn well use a drink right now."

"Yes, but you're not drinking here," Brad informed me, pulling an ATM card out of his pocket.

"Beg pardon?"

He handed me the card, then removed a gel pen from his pocket, uncapping it with his teeth. He took hold of my left wrist and turned my hand palm-up. With precise strokes, he wrote a number on my forearm.

"That's sick, Brad. Sick."

Brad recapped the pen with a snap and said, "Bite me, Schuldig. I want you to drain that account, then waste some time."

I blinked. "I'm sorry, I thought you just said I could go shopping," I quipped, not sure what was going on.

Brad adjusted his glasses, then said, "I need you to be away from the apartment for a little while."

He let his shields down just enough that I caught a glimpse of yakuza identity brokers. ::Starting a little game of Hide the German, Brad?:: I didn't like this. In my mind, if they were the sort of people who wouldn't deal with me in the room, they were the sort to betray us.

::Schuldig, they won't betray us. Not today, anyway,:: Brad added, removing any soothing effect from his first statement. ::But thank you for illustrating my point. You're still projecting. And I know you're not being lazy. You're still off-stride, and you need to get back on-stride before too much more time passes. I can't afford for you to pick up what we will be discussing today. If that were to leak out, it would be worse than bad.::

I sighed. I couldn't argue with that. "All right, I'm a wreck. What's that they say, admitting you have a problem is the first step? Eleven more to go, right?"

"Telepaths Anonymous?" Farf watched from his vantage point on the couch. "Don't think it'll help you quit, but suit yourself."

In spite of himself, Brad smiled a little. Then he looked into my eyes, and for a moment I felt the pull and drift of his Sight as it continued its hectic rush.

"Brad, are you okay?" I asked, voice soft. "Last night, you were dreaming…"

Those dark eyes closed as he bowed his head. "Drop it, Schu."

"Aw, Brad…"

Brad looked up, his expression stern. "I said drop it."

I shut my mouth. I'd been about to tell him about my nightmares, the vaguely forgotten horrors and mindless fears that had caught up with me lately. But even that wouldn't get him to talk about his dreams. Not Brad Crawford. I nodded mutely, then said, "How long do I need to chill?"

He paused, considering. Then his eyes darkened and he frowned. Brad took off his glasses, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "As long as you like," he whispered. "But not more than two days."

"Two days?" I blurted. "Brad, no, I don't want to stay away from the team that long!"

Brad gave me a look of mingled pain and anger and said, "But you will, Schuldig."

I reached out to touch his arm, wanting to hold him. Brad pulled back with a shake of his head. "Brad, why?" I asked, not understanding at all.

"Just find a way to blow some money and some time, and be back within forty-eight hours. All right?" Brad looked like a man wrestling with the devil. "Be safe. And don't get caught." He regained his composure, put his glasses back on, adjusted them with casual grace. "Upon your return, you will have a new legal identity. Be thankful. Now go, before I find a reason to stop you."

I hesitated, and in that moment Brad grabbed my arms and pulled me to him for a rough and hasty kiss. Then he released me and repeated, "Be safe, Schu. I'll see you in two days."

With a sigh I turned toward the door and let myself out. I could still taste him on my lips.

**A/N:**

_what are you running from?_

"Monsters," from CXS _Telemetry of a Fallen Angel_, the newest addition to Schu's music collection. If you happen to own it, listen to it and think about Schwarz; it's eerily appropriate. If you don't own it, I recommend it without hesitation. Later on, Schuldig will be talking with someone about how it reminds him of the team; stay tuned. –

(As with _Mystery_, I'll be abbreviating the title as _Telemetry_ from here on out. Same rule will apply to all CXS albums, as they will figure more and more prominently as Schuldig weaves them into his psychic armor.)

Historic note –

_He took hold of my left wrist and turned my hand palm-up. With precise strokes, he wrote a number on my forearm._

"_That's sick, Brad. Sick."_

In the Nazi concentration camps, inmates were marked (tattooed/branded) with numbers on their forearms.


	36. 36

**36**

_It's a question of trust_

If Brad was worried about me picking up stray thoughts from him, I'd have to get further away than the library. Damn it.

First, though, Brad did say he wanted me to empty this account, so I set about finding a teller machine that wasn't too close to the apartment. I kept my head down as I made my transaction, letting the fall of brown hair conceal my features in case the camera was on. Good thing I had the number written on my arm: I could barely remember it long enough to key it in. There wasn't much cash in the account; I took it all, then searched for a place to sit and think.

People flowed around me, seeing but not really noticing the lanky gaijin youth dressed like some kind of mock-anarchist. I laughed softly at that thought: Farfarello and his anarchist clothes to match his taste for anarchist rock music. The temptation to reach out to his mind came on strongly, but I shrugged it aside. If Brad said they would be discussing things a leaky telepath shouldn't be privy to, I wasn't going to pry. Not until the information was no longer dangerous, anyway.

I found a shade-dappled bench with a good view. With a sigh I settled down to people-watch, and wait. By the length of shadows and the number of pedestrians, I figured it had to be lunch time, though I wasn't hungry. My thoughts flowed around me, deflected the attention of the people as they went about their way. Unless they had some weird affinity for this particular bench, they would never see it, or me.

A young girl strolled by with a bunch of flowers in her arms. For some reason she seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Cute, perky, with longish black hair and…violet eyes? No, it couldn't be. Besides, there was no reason to think the sleeping girl had the same color eyes as her brother. I watched her go, and momentarily considered following. No, that wouldn't do. It was hard enough to block so many people from seeing me clearly, I didn't need to go stalking some girl on top of it.

I pushed myself up from the bench and started walking against the tide of pedestrians, choosing that direction so I could visually scan their faces as I passed them. I didn't like not being able to use my telepathy to identify other psi talents, but I felt fairly certain I could spot an operative before they saw me. They had a certain air about them, a lingering malice like the one I had worn so casually for so many years. I sighed and tried not to get pulled into my own past. Twenty-three is too damn young for a mid-life crisis.

At least, I was pretty sure I was twenty-three. Not like you get birthday parties at Rosenkreuz.

I reined that thought in fast. Not a good thing to be casually pondering, in case of leakage. With effort, I turned my thoughts to finding a way to spend some money. Funny how the past several weeks had conditioned me to do without casual cash. I'd become spoiled during the Takatori days, with wild and expensive taste in just about everything. Now I was hanging onto my money like I did in Berlin.

No, not a good thing to think about either, damn it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my disc player and headphones. I needed to focus on something safe, and this should do the trick. I turned it on.

Nothing happened.

God damn it! That's right, the batteries had punked out on me during the night. Fuck. I looked around for a place to buy more. It took me a little while, but I found a convenience store. I got some batteries and a canned coffee, then went back to my walk. Once I'd changed out the batteries, I stopped myself from tossing the spent ones in the trash and instead dumped them in the pocket with my breakfast wrapper. I hoped Brad would come up with a solution to the trash problem soon, or this vest would be in pretty foul shape by the time Farf got it back.

When the disc got to the second track, I skipped that one. I was pretty sure it had helped bring on the nightmares last night, and I really didn't want to go there again just yet. Little monsters, my ass, I thought, hoping I'd be able to sleep better tonight.

That thought brought me to a halt; the flow of pedestrian traffic slid around me as if I were a lamp post. If Brad Saw me staying away for two days, that's the same as two nights. Where the hell was I supposed to sleep? My mind spun on this question, then served up a handful of possibilities. It was summer; I could camp out somewhere. I could pay for a hotel room. If I wanted to, I could hide out in a public building. But I hated those options – they weren't secure at all. If an operative came upon me sleeping, I wasn't sure I'd be able to defend myself.

I started walking again, with no destination. Suddenly I felt myself smiling. I had an idea. Now, if only I could remember how to get there.

I ended up backtracking to the little bar. It was way too early, but I checked anyway. They weren't even open. I tried to remember the car ride here, which turns we'd taken. Slowly I began retracing that route, hoping to hell I wasn't getting myself lost.

The day slid by, growing hotter. A clock in a window showed it was nearly two-thirty. I cursed myself for not picking up some damn sunglasses at that convenience store, or anywhere else along the line. I wasn't used to this much sunlight. Not to mention, my unrestrained hair lay annoyingly hot on the back of my neck, as I hadn't bothered to tie it back, either. And I was thirsty. By the time I reached a vaguely familiar apartment building, I was sweaty and grouchy as hell.

Again he wasn't home, but this time I had a bank card and the hard plastic packaging from the batteries I'd just bought. After a quick scan to make sure I wasn't about to startle a trained assassin, I jimmied the lock in record time and let myself into Yohji's apartment. Using a corner of the vest, I wiped the doorknob and anything else I'd touched on the outside, and I made sure to lock the door as I shut it.

I looked around the living room. It was just as it had been the last time I'd found myself here. I headed for the kitchen in search of something to drink. He had some fruit-flavored water, and that looked perfect. I had to remind myself not to drink so fast it made me sick; I really didn't know if I'd given myself heat stroke or anything. In the coolness of the apartment, I chastised myself for being so stupid. I'd probably have a sunburn, too.

Returning to the living room, I regarded the couch with a fond smile. We'd had a good time together, me and that couch. Fatigue prompted me toward it, and I sank onto the welcoming cushions with a grateful sigh. I'd had too many restless nights, and I had just taken a long walk in the summer sun. I shouldn't be surprised that I was this weary, sitting here in a safe and cool apartment.

I scowled at that thought. Safe? By whose standards? The man was Kritiker, for God's sake. Even though he said he'd left, could I really trust that?

Then again, I'd left Esset, hadn't I?

Had I?

Damn it.

Too many questions without answers. My head already ached with the exertion of keeping so many people clueless to my existence. I knew I still only had two options: I could trust Yohji, or I could kill him. If he meant me harm, avoiding him would not be enough.

With a deep sigh, I stretched out on the couch and closed my eyes, wanting only a little nap to clear my head. I wasn't worried about the owner of that couch finding an intruder in his home: Yohji would probably know I was there before he ever opened that door.

When the door did open, it startled me awake. I fumbled for my gun before remembering where I was. With effort I calmed myself and sat up.

Yohji stood just inside the doorway, a couple of plastic shopping bags at his feet. When he saw me, he picked up his bags and took them into the kitchen. "What brings you here, more trouble with the missus?"

I snorted a laugh. "No, not today," I told him, getting up and wandering toward the kitchen. I looked around the room for a clock. "Team needed to be sans telepath for a little while, so I took a walk." My eyes spotted a digital readout on the microwave: 5:20. Damn, I hadn't expected to sleep so long!

Yohji regarded his purchases for a moment, then looked at me. "It's Chinese take-out, if you want some. I always get doubles."

Suddenly aware of how little I'd eaten that day, I helped myself to a box. "Thanks, I'm starving!"

"What's that, your tracking number?"

I followed his gaze to my left forearm. "Oh, that." I didn't want to go into detail and sound like a complete fool. "It's nothing, not anymore. Cleared out an account today."

He pulled two beers from the fridge and handed me one. "Okay, Schwarz, what's on your mind? So to speak," he added with a slight grin.

I picked up my dinner and followed him back to the couch. "I'm supposed to stay away for a few hours or so, spend a little cash, keep myself distracted. But he's not expecting me back for two days. I want to know why, what he Saw, but of course he wouldn't tell me."

"Two days? Does he know you're here?"

"I don't know."

Yohji sipped his beer, then asked, "Weird that he wouldn't tell you. Aren't you sort of his right hand man?"

"It's not that simple," I told him around a mouthful of noodles. "When Crawford has a vision, it's only something that might come true. It's always just a possibility, not a certainty, until it actually happens. Then you figure that acting on the knowledge of a vision can change the end result. So, unless it's immediate or extremely critical, Brad doesn't discuss his visions with anyone. Not even me."

"Weird," Yohji repeated. "It's got to be hard, living with someone like that. Then you add in the kid with his restrictions, and the psychopath, and damn, Schuldig! I thought living with Weiß was hard."

I laughed a little and shook my head. "Yeah, it's a circus, some days. Compared to us, you guys seem pretty damn normal. Unless you have some secrets lying about that I haven't found yet," I added with a leer.

His eyes distant, Yohji said, "Everyone has secrets, my friend." Then he focused on me and added, "For example, I didn't know you were left-handed."

I blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Your gun. It's in a left-hander's rig." Yohji watched me casually as he finished eating.

"How the hell did you pick up on that?" I asked, astounded. The vest had been covering the gun the entire time. There was no way he could have seen it!

"Please, Schuldig! You think I can't tell when someone's packing heat? That vest isn't hanging quite symmetrically, indicating there's something underneath it on one side but not on the other." Yohji regarded me with humor in his eyes. "And you just confirmed that it's a gun."

"Shit." I shook my head. "You should have been working in Interpol or something, Kudou. I think your skills were wasted here."

"I stayed where I was needed." He took out a cigarette and lit it, exhaled a cloud of smoke, then regarded me with a smirk. "Oh, and before you ask, yeah, I knew it was you. Obviously someone was in my apartment, and the only other people it might have been wouldn't have wiped off the doorknob."

"Man, I'm glad we're not enemies, Kudou!" Setting my take-out box down on the table, I gave a good stretch only to discover an unpleasant smell wafting up from my armpits. "Damn. I don't suppose I could borrow your shower and a shirt, could I? I didn't bring a spare, and I'm offending myself, here."

"No problem. You know where the shower is, help yourself. I'll find you another shirt. Do I get to have that one back, now that you've stunk it up?" he asked with a grin.

"If you still want it," I replied, heading for the bathroom.

I assessed the condition of my clothes as I removed each article. The jeans were fine, but everything else needed washing. Poking my head out the door I asked, "Do you have a laundry here?"

"Nah, I use a drop-off service," he replied, a cloud of cigarette smoke preceding him to the bathroom door. "Don't worry about it, I can lend you some socks and stuff too, if you need it."

"Thanks, man." A laundry room would have made this easier; Farf's vest was not wearable anymore. I emptied the pockets, setting my disc player and headphones and the bits of trash carefully beside the sink. On impulse, I tossed the vest into the shower. Maybe I could spruce it up a little while I washed. I tied the holster over the shower curtain rod, carefully placing the gun far from the water, then climbed into the shower and ducked under the spray with a grateful sigh.

I closed my eyes and let the water course over my face and down my chest. The skin on my face and arms felt tight and the warm water stung: sunburned, all right. After a quick and thorough scrubbing of the necessary parts, I turned the water temperature down and leaned into the spray. The cascade of cool water felt soothing as hell. I stood there, head bowed under the water, hands flat against the wall.

Into my calm came the whispers of doubt. Brad had said a few hours, but meant two days. I recalled other conversations I'd had with him, where he'd indicated that he knew exactly where I'd been. He'd been jealous as hell. _Now I'm here again,_ I thought. _Brad has to know, he can't _not_ know. What are his intentions? Why did he basically send me here?_ My thoughts wandered back to the last time I'd gotten cleaned up in this apartment. What a mess that had been. Brad had said that, if I'd had my gun that night, it would have been a bloodbath. He had deliberately sent me out unarmed, knowing I'd run into trouble. Today he sent me out again. He was meeting with people he didn't want me to see. He knew where I was. Could he be cutting a deal to ensure his own and Nagi's safety? Brad was a hand-picked team leader from Rosenkreuz. How much did I trust him now?

And I was a hand-picked follower, conditioned to a fine edge of paranoia and betrayal. My heart rate sped up until I felt dizzy with panic. For a moment I had the urge to just sit down under the falling water and let it wash me down the drain.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain control of myself. Eyes tight shut, I could see my friend Karl shaking his head at me, telling me to think and figure out whether the fear was my own, or something they wanted me to feel. Rosenkreuz used fear as a tool, to keep their operatives from becoming too independent.

Did I truly believe that Brad could sell me out?

No. I did not. With effort I made my breathing slow and deep, concentrating on only that. The fear was not valid. I would not allow it to consume me. The moment I turned against the team out of fear would be the moment Esset won, and damned if I would allow that to happen. Things were not as bleak as I feared; they never were.

I picked up the soggy, smelly vest and rubbed some soap into the pits, then rinsed it and wrung it out as best I could. Yohji had one of those corner pole shelf units in the tub; I hooked the vest over the highest corner to drip for a while. Still forcing my thoughts away from unfounded worries, I turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

I dried off too roughly, making the fresh sunburn sting. With a snarl I tossed the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, then reached for the door. Then I remembered where I was, and reclaimed the towel, wrapping it quickly around my waist before leaving the bathroom.

Yohji eyed me speculatively as I padded out barefoot and clad only in a towel. "How's the shoulder?" he asked, stubbing out his cigarette and coming toward me.

I realized it must still look like hell. "It's getting better, just not there yet," I said. "That's why I'm going left-handed for a while."

Yohji reached out to my shoulder, probing gently. "Man, this does not look good. You seen a doctor for it?"

For some reason, I really didn't want to discuss this. "It's okay, really. It's only been a week, right? You know how long this shit takes."

"How about the hands?" Yohji moved his inspection from my shoulder to my palms, running his fingertips over the barely-mended flesh.

"My hands are fine. Thanks for the antibiotics, by the way." I felt the last of my panic attack dissolve under Yohji's gentle touch. The momentary disappointment I felt when he released my hands surprised me.

"There's some shirts for you to pick from," he told me. "I set them out on my bed. The button-down might be easiest, if your shoulder's stiff." He regarded me critically and suggested, "You said you had money to spend, do you want to do some shopping? I don't know what kind of stuff you have, but I'm guessing it's not up to your standard."

"You'd be right," I told him as I headed for his bedroom. "We had to leave all the good stuff behind. My favorite god damned coat, too." The button-down he'd mentioned was a long-sleeve linen shirt that would look good with the sleeves rolled up. I shrugged into the shirt and rolled the cuffs, noticing with distaste that the account number still showed faintly on my sunburned arm, pale digits against an angry red. Grumbling at myself I untied the towel, letting the long shirt guard my modesty as I headed back to the bathroom.

"Do you want to borrow some shorts?" Yohji asked as I passed him in the hallway.

I blushed in spite of myself. "Yes, please." I left the bathroom door open while I wrung out the vest a little more. "Is there someplace we could hang this to dry?" I called out, hoping he could suggest something. It occurred to me that it might take more than two days, and Farf would be furious if I left it behind.

"No problem," he said from the doorway. "Here, these should work." With that he tossed a pair of plain white undershorts at me.

I caught them and for a moment just stood there, holding a pair of Yohji's briefs in my hands. Then my mind returned from the gutter. I thanked him and quickly put them on. Strange that we wore the same size, I thought. Hell of a coincidence. Then again, compared to most of the population of Japan, Yohji and I were of fairly similar build, though he was a bit taller.

"Do they fit all right?"

"Yeah, they'll do just fine, thanks," I said, reaching for my jeans. I finished dressing and brushed my hair again, still not used to the fall of soft brown that had once been my cherished red.

Yohji watched me in the mirror. "What do you need dried?" he asked.

"Oh, right." I grabbed the soggy vest and dangled it over the tub; it was still dripping. "Um, I don't want to make a mess all over the place."

Yohji joined me by the tub and took the vest from me. I watched him bunch it up and wring it with an incredible amount of force. The tendons in his wrists and hands stood out in sharp relief; the muscles in his arms bulged and flexed with each movement as he squeezed the vest free of water, then draped it over the curtain rod. I didn't realize I was staring until he gave me a quizzical look and asked, "Did you doze off on me, Schuldig? I said, do you want me to stash the piece for you while we're out?"

"Oh, right," I murmured. "Probably should, huh?"

Yohji smiled at me and said, "Uh, yeah, unless you're planning to rob the place." He regarded me with those cool, intelligent eyes. "Come on. I'll show you." He led me back to his bedroom, then opened his closet. Inside stood a small safe. "I'll lock it in here until we're back for the night, if that's okay with you."

"Fair enough," I said, not thrilled to be without my gun again, but I was starting to get used to it.

"You got cash?" he asked, shutting my sidearm in the safe and closing the closet door.

Crawford's instructions echoed in my head, two conflicting commands: spend some money, and buy nothing. "Oh, hey, wait a minute," I said, tangling a hand in my hair in frustration. "Brad said something weird earlier today, he told me not to buy anything. But then he told me to go blow some cash." I paced out of his bedroom and back toward the kitchen. "Sometimes the visions he gets are opposite, or they change from moment to moment. I usually just go with the last one stated, but I don't know if I should go buying stuff today. Damn it, it's never simple!"

"Why would buying stuff be a problem, especially if you have money? I'm presuming it's small, unmarked bills," he added, lighting another cigarette.

"Yeah," I laughed, "got it fair and square from an auto-teller. As far as I can tell, he's worried that object readers might figure out where we are. If I buy something, and they get hold of the money I touched, they'd know I'd been there." I thought momentarily of the breakfast snack and the batteries, then told myself to leave that the hell alone. A man could drive himself crazy trying to keep up with a precog, especially one with a bad case of mice. "But there might not actually be any psychometrists within a thousand kilometers. That's the problem. I just don't know."

"Okay, I can follow about half of that. Mind explaining in layman's terms?"

"Give me a cigarette," I said, holding my hand out. "I don't talk without a bribe, Weiß."

"I thought you hated this brand," he challenged, not reaching for his pack.

"I do, but I'm getting desperate," I confessed.

Yohji shook his head and chuckled, then tossed me the pack and a lighter. "How did Schwarz manage to be so much trouble if you can't even keep track of your smokes?"

I lit up and sucked down the bitter poison, then said, "Actually, it's only been bad since the tower. I forget shit."

"Like numbers?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Like numbers."

"You said you hit your head when the tower broke apart," Yohji stated, watching me closely. "What does that do to a telepath?"

"I don't know," I told him, feeling too vulnerable in this conversation. "I'm still in the process of finding out. The telepathy is fixing itself, bit by bit. The memory problem doesn't seem to be getting any better. Not yet, anyway."

Yohji glanced at his watch, then stubbed out his cigarette and changed the subject. "Come on, let's do our shopping and get some snacks. We can talk more later."

"So do I spend money or not?" I asked, still trying to second-guess a possibly mad precog.

Yohji chuckled and said, "How about this. I'll pay, and you give me the cash. Technically, you're blowing the cash without using it to pay for stuff, right? So either way, you win."

I couldn't argue with that.

We drove about half an hour, or the duration of six pop songs and a long commercial on the radio. The shop catered to tall men, and the clerk knew Yohji by name. While they chatted, I wandered through the displays of shirts, looking for something easy to wear yet flattering: though in exile, I was still vain.

I found myself hurrying a little, not quite trusting the normalcy of the situation. First I grabbed a couple of shirts that could be worn in layers, then some sturdy denim jeans and a pair of cross-trainers to replace my wrecked leather pants and shoes. I tried everything on, then declared my mission a success. As I set everything on the counter, a small plastic package came flying at my head. I caught it, then looked at my prize: men's underwear, my size, cotton, black. I grinned sheepishly and added them to the pile.

"You done?" Yohji asked, sauntering over and pulling out a credit card.

I was about to say "yes" when I noticed a brown leather blazer that seemed to be begging me to buy it. "Just a sec," I mumbled, reaching for the jacket hopefully. If it fit, I wanted it.

It fit.

Yohji smiled a little as we added it to the tab. He finished his transaction and handed me the bags. On our way to the car, he asked, "Want any snacks or anything?"

"Got anything sweet?" I asked, craving cake.

"I can find you some," he answered. "What do you like with your sweets?"

"Coffee," I murmured, already fantasizing.

We drove to a café, one of the few in the area that was still open. Yohji bought an assortment of chocolate and fruit treats, along with a bag of coffee beans. I nodded my approval.

As we drove back to Yohji's apartment, I couldn't stop thinking about how pleasant this trip had been. This was the first time I'd ever gone shopping with a friend, or even had a friend to shop with. Far didn't count; it wasn't easy to take him anywhere. And I had never seen Karl or Sergei this side of the grey walls of Rosenkreuz. They would have loved this, I thought. This time I didn't immediately banish the wave of grief that their memory brought; I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel the fullness of that loss, balanced as it was by this new friend I had found in Yohji.

On our return, Yohji set the snacks in the kitchen and went into his bedroom while I pulled tags off my new clothes. About the time I was done with that and looking for his coffee grinder, Yohji returned with my holstered gun. "Don't know where you want to keep this, but I promised I'd get it out when we got back," he said as he handed it to me by the straps.

I bundled it up with the clothes and carried it all out to the living room, leaving Kudou in charge of the caffeine. I really didn't know where to put this stuff, so I set it on the floor by the couch.

From the kitchen came the smell of coffee brewing. I sighed and leaned back on the couch. Yohji brought out the box of sweets and set it on the table. "You said you don't do well with certain drugs," Yohji commented. "Does hashish bother you?"

"No, actually, it doesn't," I told him, curious where this was going.

"Good." He opened a drawer on the side of the table and pulled out a little box and a small water pipe. "It helps me sleep, sometimes." Yohji took the pipe to the kitchen; I heard him rinse it out and fill it.

I wasn't sure if he'd offered to share, but then again, I hadn't fully decided whether to accept if he did. It never helped me with sleeping, and I was craving sugar and caffeine anyway. "All telepaths are speed freaks," I mumbled to myself with a slight smirk.

When Yohji returned with his pipe, he brought me a fresh cup of coffee, then set about preparing his smoke. Before lighting it, Yohji set the pipe down and strode over to his stereo. Graceful hands rose to the CD rack. "You like music, Schuldig?"

"I love music," I replied, curling up on the couch and savoring a small piece of lemon cake.

He set a few discs in the changer, then joined me on the couch. From the speakers drifted poetry sung by a Japanese man with a haunting voice. Yohji picked up his pipe, lit it and inhaled deeply, eyes closing as he took in the pungent smoke. As he exhaled, he asked, "Hey, so how's the kid?"

"He's doing okay. Thinks I'm a total freak, I'm sure." I breathed in the softly sweet smoke that wafted toward me, then took a sip of coffee. "What brought that up, anyway?"

"Oh. The music," he replied. "You'd mentioned that he couldn't listen to music, the restrictions and all. How's that going?"

"Oh, he can listen to some music, we just have to be careful what kind," I explained. "This would be right out."

"A Gackt-free zone? Sad." Yohji set the pipe on the table and reached for a fruit bar.

"Yeah, this is way too evocative. He listens to Mozart, and some trance music, but nothing with words. He detests pop, and anything too interesting scares the crap out of him." I finished off my piece of cake and surveyed the box for another. "Poor bastard couldn't eat any of this stuff, either."

"You're going slow with him, right?"

I smiled. "Yeah, I'm going slow. Haven't had The Talk with him yet, but I'm still trying to figure out how to get Brad to do it for me."

Yohji chuckled, a soft, mellow sound. "Good luck. Sounds like the missus isn't very open to suggestions."

"No, he's not," I replied. "You know, sometimes I really wonder what goes on in his head."

"You don't peek? That's hard to believe, Schuldig."

I finished my coffee and got up to get some more. Halfway to the kitchen I said, "He's good at keeping me out."

"That's not a very good trait for a lover."

I paused. His words had hit something painful. I swallowed and bowed my head before completing my errand.

Yohji didn't pursue the conversation, for which I was grateful. I didn't feel comfortable discussing Crawford's shortcomings. We sat in mutual silence for a few moments, listening to music and nibbling on sweets.

"Hey, Schuldig."

I blinked and focused on him. "Sorry, guess I dozed off a little."

He smiled and said, "Told you it's good for sleeping. Why don't you borrow my room for the night? There's a show I want to watch anyway, you might as well have the bed. I'm not going to be using it."

"You sure?" I asked around a yawn.

"Positive. Man, I've never seen anyone suck down two cups of strong coffee and then pass out like this. You need to take better care of yourself, Schuldig. Go on, you know where it is." He reached down and scooped up the bundle of clothes, my gun still tucked in the middle of it. "Here, take this in with you. I don't want to trip over it."

I stashed my gear next to his bed, then went back out toward the bathroom. The vest was nearly dry; I flipped it around to keep it drying evenly. On my way back to the bedroom, I paused to look into the living room. Yohji had turned off the stereo and turned on the television, and then gone into the kitchen for something. I said "good night" to an empty room and went on my way to bed.

**A/N:**

_It's a question of trust_

Oh, my. "Question of Lust," Depeche Mode _Black Celebration_. Two days… Oh, and please keep an eye on Yohji. He hasn't been quite right since that whole Asuka/Neu business, you know.

From the Interesting Freudian Typo Department: While writing this chapter, I made a couple of creepy typos. oO;; Check these out! (The correct word is in parentheses.)

1. Brad was a hand-picked team leader from Rosenkreuz. How much did I trust him not (now)?

2. Did I truly believe that Brad cold (could) sell me out?

**Public Service Announcement: **

This chapter includes a scene wherein one of the characters smokes hashish. It is not intended as an endorsement of the practice. Nor is it intended as an endorsement of the use of caffeine or excessive sweets. It is, however, a fact of life that some good people do occasionally indulge in things that may be bad for them. Cherish your health, and make wise choices. Always remember, you are free to decline graciously if you are offered something you don't want.


	37. 37

**37**

_My weakness – you know each and every one (it frightens me)_

I awoke drenched in sweat, the screams lingering in my ears. For a moment I couldn't tell if the sound had been real or dream.

Then I remembered the dream. Nausea rose up in my throat and I bolted from the bed. How I managed to get to the bathroom I didn't know. I knelt by the toilet and retched, my empty stomach cramping instantly and my head pounding.

A soft knock sounded at the doorframe, then Yohji peeked in and asked, "You all right?"

I couldn't speak. My throat burned, and I couldn't stop dry-heaving. Remembered agony knotted my muscles and I clung to the toilet and wept.

Gentle hands pulled my hair back from my face, then Yohji was gone again and I heard water running in the sink. I groaned as my stomach lurched again, though all I had left to spit up was foam. Soothing coolness brushed over my naked shoulders and down my back, washing away the sweat. Yohji pulled my hair back again, then held it up and away from my neck. His other hand pressed a wadded-up washrag against the base of my skull. It was chillingly cold, and he used enough pressure to hurt.

"No, keep it there," he instructed as I tried to flinch away. He pressed harder, bracing me to keep still. "It's a pressure point. It helps with nausea."

Sure enough, the spasms receded. Yohji took my left hand and made me hold the washrag in place. He got up and brought me a glass of warm water to rinse with. By this time I was shivering, though I was glad I hadn't sweated up anything other than a borrowed pair of briefs.

Without saying anything, Yohji started running a bath. The sound of the water soothed my head. I dared taking a deep breath, relaxing little by little in the aftermath of something worse than a bad dream. As memory threatened to overrun my thoughts again, I moaned and closed my eyes.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Yohji said, helping me to my feet.

I stood and tried to take off the sweaty briefs, but the movement nearly made me overbalance. Then strong and sure hands were at my hips, sliding the garment down with no pretense. I thought, _this must be how Nagi felt, when I had to bathe him: helpless as hell._

Yohji guided me into the tub and helped me to sit, then sponged warm water over my back and my hair. Every now and then his hand would rest on my chest or on my back as though checking the temperature, or checking my breathing.

"I'll be right back. Will you be okay for a minute?" he asked.

I nodded. The nausea was gone, replaced with pain and weariness. Someday, maybe, it would all be gone, and I would just be Schuldig.

"Did you say something?"

I shook my head.

Yohji returned with my new clothes, tearing open the package of underwear and setting a pair on top of the jeans. He helped me get out of the tub, then slung a towel around my waist. "Need help drying off?" he asked, his hand on my good shoulder.

"No, I'm fine," I whispered.

"Okay, I'll make us some tea."

I toweled off, then dressed, all in what seemed like slow motion. The tremors from the nightmare had left my body, but the horror of it still circulated through my mind. It always did, though being close to Brad usually kept it a little further away. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Was this the face of madness? "God, what did they do to us?" My voice fell flat and hollow to echo dully against the tile. I looked away from the blue-eyed brunette in the mirror, uncertain who the hell he was anymore, and made my way to the living room.

Yohji sat on the couch, a book open across his knee. On the table sat a tea set and an opened bottle of wine. The television was on, the volume down low. It looked like he was watching some kind of forensics program. As I approached, he turned off the television, set down the glass he'd been sipping from and gave me an encouraging smile. "Tea's ready."

I nodded, and he leaned forward to pour two cups. He offered me one. My hands shook as I accepted it.

"Want to talk?" he asked, watching me closely.

I sighed into my cup. An echo of steam rose up to dampen my cheek. "It's not something you talk about," I whispered, my throat still raw. "You can't comprehend it if you weren't there, and if you were…you already know it."

"I'll listen, Schuldig. You know I will."

I looked into his eyes, and saw a jade reflection of my own. Like me, Yohji knew the nature of hell. Perhaps not the same hell, but just maybe he could understand. I took a deep breath and said, "Sometimes I relive things, in my sleep. Bad things."

Yohji watched me in silence.

"Some nightmares never die. Rosenkreuz," I croaked, my voice failing on the name. I swallowed hard and tried again. "The place I was…trained. They don't just deal with mind talents. They're trying out new ways to control people, to control groups of people. They mix it all up with the psi training and the field training, but it's really about control." Using both hands I set the teacup back on the table, still nearly spilling it in the process.

"Hey, look," Yohji said, "only tell me what you feel safe saying, okay? I'll listen to everything, but you look like it's really painful to talk about."

"Yeah, it is. In more ways than one." I took a deep breath, then another. I shook my head. For some reason I found myself staring at the potted orchid across the room. I spoke to it, rather than Yohji; it seemed easier that way. "They leave things in your head, things to keep you in line. Telepathic commands. Conditioning. Programming. It's harder to talk about than you can imagine." Deliberately I turned to look at him. "But we're supposed to be free, Yohji. I don't want to do this anymore."

"And they won't just let you go," he stated.

I shook my head. "They'll never let us go. They think we stole the Elders' power or something, I don't know. Maybe they just hate being made fools of. In any case, they want to kill us. Or take us back." I looked down at my hands, at my wrists, at the fine white scars there. "Rosenkreuz is worse than death."

A warm hand moved to cover my scarred wrists with its gentle strength. "You've made it this far," Yohji reminded me.

I sighed and nodded. "I know. It's just, in some ways, I feel like I've never left. It's still in my head, all the pain and…" My voice trailed off. In the silence I could hear my own screams, echoing inside my skull. I couldn't make it stop. Then or now.

Without a word, Yohji gathered me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. I shuddered, fighting down a dozen unwelcome reactions. I tried to concentrate on just breathing.

As I huddled there, I became enraptured of Yohji's heartbeat. Slow, steady, calm; muscle pounding out the rhythm of blood. I used to listen to Karl's heart beat as he crooned soft words of comfort in my darkest moments. My hands drifted up, fingers twining in curly hair as the warmth of his body flowed through my skin. For a moment my weary mind forgot that this was not Karl, and tried to link with him.

Vaguely familiar surface patterns brought me back to myself, on the couch, clinging to Yohji for dear life.

"I – I'm sorry," I stammered, starting to pull away.

"It's okay," Yohji said, releasing me slowly. "I don't mind. I know what can happen, in places like that."

I sucked in a deep breath and steeled my resolve. "Yohji, I hope to God you can't imagine any of it. They use torture and coercion and anything else that might increase their power. And they have a lot of power."

Yohji eyed me speculatively. "Did they torture the kid, too?" he asked, voice low.

I closed my eyes against a sudden rush of despair. God, no! I didn't want to think about this!

The cushions shifted as Yohji got up. I heard his clothing rustle as he paced around the room, but I couldn't open my eyes for fear the tears would come and never stop. Dimly I heard an almost chant-like growl, the sound of a man regaining his composure with difficulty. Then I felt the air shift as he strode back toward the couch, and around it. "Let it go for now," Yohji said, voice low; I couldn't tell if he was talking to me, or to himself. Fingertips brushed the back of my neck, then strong hands gripped my shoulders. Carefully, so as not to further injure my right shoulder, Yohji began kneading into the cable-hard muscles. I winced, then tried to relax. I wasn't used to this sort of care; usually I was the one doing the massaging, not receiving it.

Yohji massaged my shoulders and neck until the tension seeped away, then continued until the coldness inside my muscles had changed to a grudging warmth. When I heaved a sigh and sank back into the couch, he gave a final squeeze and said, "Drink your tea."

He went into the kitchen, and I heard him open the fridge. I swallowed the tea, poured more, and drank it just as quickly. When he returned with two bottles of fruit water, I took one gratefully and started in on it.

He watched me, then said, "Guess that explains why you look tired all the time. Anything I can do to help?"

"Remind me that I'm still human," I told him, surprising myself a little. Pushing brown hair out of my eyes I looked up at him and said, "Remind me that they haven't won yet."

"Sounds to me like I'm taking over someone else's job," Yohji said softly. "Tell me about Karl. You've mentioned him before, and I thought I heard you call his name a couple times tonight."

"Dear, sweet Karl," I whispered, then found myself smiling. "Karl's a telempath, he can feel other people's emotions and sensations, and change them if he wants to. He…was my best friend." I looked down, fighting back the sorrow. It had already been too long; grieving time was over. "Anyway, we'd meet up whenever we could sneak away. You didn't get a lot of free time there. Everything was done on the sly. We'd slip into an empty classroom or a closet or whatever. Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes just breathe together. Sometimes we fucked." I laughed softly at a memory. "Karl could get into your mind and pull up your most fantastic sexual memory. You'd have a great time, and he wouldn't even have to touch you."

"Damn!"

"Yeah." I glanced up at Yohji and said, "That's how he stayed alive." Yohji scowled; I looked down again, burning in shame. I was torn between telling him everything and hiding my ugliest secrets; I didn't want him to despise me, and I was very afraid he would. But something about him seemed to say he wasn't that kind of friend, the kind who leave when things get unpleasant. I took a deep breath and started talking before I could change my mind. "I stayed alive by bending over. You either do, or get done to. That's another way they control people: they let that shit happen. The students pretty much do whatever they can get away with. The only real rules are _don't fuck with the teachers_, and _don't get caught_. You learn pretty quick which side you're on, whether you're a hunter or the prey, and then decide how much you really want to live." My eyes closed as I whispered, "I was too afraid of death to fight."

"Fear of death is overrated," Yohji told me. "It's no substitute for a love of life."

I blinked, then stared at him in surprise. His words rang true. No wonder Esset still had power over me: I was living out their programming, even now.

"You were telling me about Karl," Yohji prompted gently, reaching for his cigarettes, then lighting two.

"Right." I accepted the nicotine stick with a faint smile. "They didn't go too hard on him, because empaths break fairly easily. But I was sort of a problem child. I spent a lot of recovery time with him."

"How so?"

"He could make the pain go away. When I needed it most, he reminded me that I'm still human." I sucked on the cigarette, its bitterness echoing the bitterness of loss. "Karl was the brother I never had. I haven't seen him in about four years. They assigned me to a team, and the last I heard he'd gotten on a team, too. He's probably dead by now. The gentle ones don't last long." A horrible, terrible thought occurred to me then, and I whispered it aloud. "Or they're making him look for me."

"Why, because you were close?"

I shook my head. "Wouldn't matter. Brad said they'd come after us with everything they've got, and a telempath would be very useful if they wanted to take us alive. Which I believe they do."

For a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room was the hiss of burning tobacco.

"I hope he's dead." My voice sounded harsh in the stillness.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Yohji said, not looking at me. "I know it hurts." He stubbed out his cigarette and reached for his wine glass. "I lost someone too." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and added, "I still have nightmares about it."

Again silence filled the room. My cigarette burned down, turned to ash.

"She was my best friend," he stated, speaking to his glass. With a wry quirk of his lip he said, "Sometimes we fucked. I would have given up everything for her. I did give up everything." He frowned then, and took a sip of wine. With exaggerated care Yohji set his glass on the table, then looked at his hands as though reading his future in them.

Something about his manner unnerved me a little. I picked up the wine bottle and drained it, though alcohol has never brought me courage. "I'm sorry," I murmured.

"Schuldig, what did you mean when you said Karl would remind you you're still human?" Yohji asked, not looking at me.

"Laughing. Smiling. When we were together, sexually," I told him. "Machines don't fuck."

"Is that it, being able to have sex with someone?" he asked, seeming to wait for a certain answer.

I thought about the question more deeply now, taking my time with it. "No," I stated. "It's more than that. But sometimes, that's all you have." Talking once more toward the orchid in its sleek black pot I whispered, "They didn't even leave me my name."

We sat in silence once more. I noticed the edges of the window shade growing light with the coming dawn. I closed my eyes; sunrises were for other souls than mine. The light only reminded me of the boy I had once been, the boy who was lost forever now. The pressure of a headache pulsed behind my eyes, the way it always did when I dared to look too deep. I pushed my thumb and forefinger against my eyelids, bringing bright starburst flashes to my weary head and not doing a damn thing for the pain. With a sigh I lowered my hand and blinked, trying to focus.

Yohji muffled a yawn with the back of his hand; deep shadows ringed his eyes. He offered me a tired smile. "Look, it's almost morning," he said, his voice gentle. "Do you want to try to sleep, or do you want breakfast? Either way, you're on your own because I'm reclaiming the bed for a few hours."

My voice sounded hollow to me as I said, "I'll crash out on the couch, then."

"Linens and blankets are in the hall closet. And there's headache pills in the bathroom. Help yourself." He got up, then leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. "Get some sleep. We'll talk more later."

**A/N:**

_My weakness – you know each and every one (it frightens me)_

This chapter picks up where 36 left off, and the song remains the same. Schuldig is about to explore a depth of friendship he can't have with his team. There are many character insights here, and each one is important. This…is MY Schuldig.

**Review Mailbag:**

To all, good to see you in 2005! A quick reminder about my live journal, there's scads of room for longer notes, and whenever I have a longer reply for a review, that's where I put it. Later on, I may need to put longer author's notes there, too. I'll let you know.

Also, I've got two different soundtracks for this novel fanfiction, and they're both live at Hope Forlorn. One is a list of the songs used at the beginning of each chapter, and the other is my attempt to score the story like a movie. (Kind of like "Batman: the Movie" had two different scores, one by Prince and one by Danny Elfman… I like that Danny Elfman!) The score is a potential spoiler, but it shouldn't ruin the story for you. Maybe a little déjà vu down the line, but that can be a fun thing. Come on by and see what you think.

_**Arileo**_ – No blue ink, that would have been too squicky even for me. oO;;

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – (chapter 35) Glad to answer some of your questions; yes, if I do my job right you're gonna have more. And any time you want to post long comments and rant and rave, come by my live journal (see my profile for the addy) and talk at me there.

(chapter 36) Creepy typos – muahahaha! Shopping – muahahahaHA! (stops laughing evilly and takes a few deep breaths) Besides, you know how bad redheads sunburn, and Schu IS a natural redhead.

_**Star Princess Meesa**_ – Thank you for joining us! I hope you find my reply soon, I see that you're writing to me after chapter 2. And, thank you for the praise. I'm working hard on this story.

**_Lestat_** – I like writing Yotan x Schu, in every sense of the term. In my world, they're very similar souls. Yeah, 007, Mission Impossible, cheese. (Side note, if you're a James Bond fan, there's a music group called Bond and they do a fantastic cover of the 007 theme. I like it much.)

**_may_** – (chapter 36) You're very welcome! And I liked writing that chapter too. Maybe what's so pleasant about it is the image of Schu holding a pair of Yotan's undies and thinking hentai thoughts. –

(chapter 35) As you see, Schu isn't thrilled about his hair, either. The number thing is a weird complication for him, ne? And I'm glad you find the story catching, it means I'm doing it right.


	38. 38

**38**

_Fragile, like a baby in your arms – be gentle with me,_

_I'd never willingly do you harm_

_Déjà vu all over again,_ I thought as I awoke on Yohji's couch, the smell of fried noodles wafting through the apartment. Across the room, the orchid nodded in the soft breeze from the open window. Late afternoon sunlight painted long shadows on the floor.

"Sleep all right?"

I looked up. Yohji stood in the kitchen, cooking something that was starting to smell fantastic. "Really good," I told him. "You?" I gave a slow stretch and noted with some surprise that my shoulder actually felt a little better; I flexed it a bit and it worked almost smoothly.

"Not bad. I always sleep better when the sun's up," Yohji said as he lifted a pan and flipped its contents with a casual one-handed toss. The mass of noodles sizzled as the untoasted side hit the pan with a smack. "How's the shoulder?"

I smiled a little. Damn, if that man didn't notice everything! "Not bad, amazingly enough. Maybe this couch has some therapeutic properties, you think?"

Yohji chuckled. "If that's the case, how much do you think I can rent it out for?"

I laughed and headed for the bathroom. Yohji must have showered while I was still asleep: the room was a little foggy and smelled of fresh soap. I shut the door and found Far's vest hanging stiffly on a hook behind it, the fabric dry and wrinkly. At least it was ready to go back. I frowned, one hand gripping the hem of the vest. That's right, tomorrow morning would mark two days. "Damn it," I growled to no one in particular.

I finished my business and surveyed my reflection. The sleep had done a lot of good. My eyes reminded me of myself again, though there was still something different about them. I supposed there always would be, now: whether contact with the Elders or nearly dying had brought the change, it was a change I couldn't deny. With a sigh I turned my attention to my nut-colored hair. Running my fingers through it, I found that the paler roots were already becoming visible, though not badly so. Grumbling to myself, I returned to the living room.

Yohji had just brought two bowls out and set them on the table. He looked at me and said, "Thought you might be hungry." Then he returned to the kitchen for the tea tray.

My fingers toyed with my hair, twining it around while I looked at the long brown strands with distaste. I hadn't expected it to start growing out so soon. This whole situation was becoming more annoying by the moment – I'd have to re-color it nearly every week, at this rate! Two at the outside.

"You know, they say hair grows faster on perverts," Yohji commented. "Though, I've never seen any real evidence of that."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." I picked up my bowl and started eating. After a couple of bites, I looked up and asked, "Do I want to know what's in this?"

"Pork and tofu, why?"

"Never mind." I returned my attention to my dinner. Pigs and soybeans were fine by me, but one couldn't be too careful.

"So I take it sashimi is probably not your favorite food here."

"Please, I'm trying to eat!"

Yohji laughed and shook his head. "Man, I just can't figure you out. You act all tough and superior when we're fighting, but you're just a regular guy, really. And one who gets squeamish over raw fish."

"Yohji! Not while I'm eating!" I growled, trying not to think about it.

"Me, I'll try anything." At my skeptical glance, Yohji amended this to, "Well, almost anything. Monkey --"

"One more word and I'll puke," I warned him.

"Okay, okay."

Maybe praise would shut him up. "This is really good, by the way."

"Thanks. The other guys didn't really cook, so if I wanted anything other than take-out, I was pretty much on my own." Yohji finished off his noodles, then lit a cigarette and leaned back on the couch.

A little self-conscious, I took our empty bowls to the kitchen and stacked them in the sink. I really wasn't used to the guest treatment, and he'd already done so much for me I had the momentary urge to wash his dishes in repayment. Then I came to my senses and returned to the living room to bum a cigarette.

Yohji lit me one and I took it, noticing that it didn't seem as brackish as usual. Guess I was getting used to the damn things, I thought. So much for getting disgusted enough to quit altogether. I snorted a laugh and promptly started coughing.

"You okay there?"

"Yeah, just thought of something funny," I told him. "You know I hate this brand, but it's better than nothing. Brad wants me to quit. I was kind of hoping that it'd be easier to do if I didn't like the taste, but no dice. I'm hooked."

Yohji chuckled. "Man, that really bites. Why does he want you to quit? Second-hand smoke issues? Or doesn't he like to kiss buttmouth?"

"Buttmouth? Oh, you're a regular comedian." This tangent wasn't pleasing me anymore. By this time the following day, I'd be back in that apartment with my team, and I had the feeling I wouldn't be pleased by anything for a while.

"Hey, chill, Schuldig," Yohji said, raising his hands a little. "I wasn't trying to piss you off."

"Sorry. I'm not pissed, not really. Just disappointed," I sighed. "It's so easy to just _be_ with you, and I'm down to counting the hours before I have to go again." I regarded him with a rakish smirk and asked, "You sure you don't want to run away with me, to Amsterdam or something? Be a couple of hippies or whatever?"

Yohji grinned back and said, "You think I want Crawford hunting me down and shooting me where it hurts? Hell, no! It's a nice idea, though. I've never been to Amsterdam."

"Me neither. But I hear it's a friendly place."

Sunset colored the window red-gold. The breeze had died down, leaving behind an expectant sort of quiet. We sat together in silence, smoking and daydreaming. As day faded into twilight, Yohji got up and shut the window, then set the stereo to play, the volume soothingly low.

"Can I ask you something without you getting a headache over it?" Yohji asked, not looking at me.

"Depends," I told him. "Try me."

"Why Schuldig?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Did you choose that name for yourself," Yohji asked as he returned to the couch, "or did someone give it to you?"

I fidgeted, stubbed out my cigarette with a savage twist. "No, I chose it."

"What are you guilty of?"

I'd thought he didn't know that much of the language, but he could have looked it up anytime. I bit my lip, then whispered, "Everything."

A strong hand cupped my chin, tilted my head back. Yohji looked into my eyes for a long moment, then he shook his head slowly, his lips curving in a graceful smile. "No, you're not."

I stared as Yohji leaned in close to softly brush his lips against mine, his breath hot upon my mouth. He repeated this light caress, his eyes barely open. His eyelashes tickled my skin.

When his tongue darted against my lips, I moaned and opened my mouth to him. My hands clutched at his hair as the kiss deepened. Yohji kissed with gentle sureness, so different from Crawford's near frantic domination. I melted into his embrace, craving more of this rare sensual delight. _Yohji even smells good,_ I thought distantly as my hands sought to memorize every angle of his shoulders.

He held me close, his fingertips running up and down my back and making me shiver. His tongue teased mine into exploring his mouth, then he closed his lips around my tongue and sucked. I whimpered deep in my throat, my body craving his touch everywhere, anywhere. God, he reminded me of Karl! So tender, so sensual, and not demanding anything in return.

I realized I'd tapped into his thoughts, and tried to pull my mind back before he noticed. Yohji broke from the kiss to smile at me and wink, then he slid to the floor, his hands at my hips. Had I given him the suggestion for this? No, I was pretty sure I hadn't forced him, but it seemed pretty likely that I'd let slip my desire. That wink was fairly telling.

"Stop worrying about it," Yohji said. "Or do you want me to stop?" He rested the palm of one hand against my erection and pressed lightly.

I groaned. Reflexively my hands clutched at his hair.

Yohji chuckled and continued massaging me through my jeans.

I thought he was waiting for an answer, but I couldn't make any coherent sounds. Barely in control of my own body, I thrust up against his hand.

Yohji rose for a moment to kiss me deeply once more, his hair falling across my face. Then he knelt between my feet and unfastened my pants. He took his time, reaching in and rubbing me through the underwear. He lowered his mouth to my cloth-covered cock and breathed hot air through the fabric, then gripped me with his lips and nibbled his way to the head.

I could feel the cotton underwear grow sticky where it touched the tip of my cock. Aside from that, and Yohji's mouth, the world didn't seem to exist anymore.

With slow, gentle movements Yohji freed me from my underwear. He stroked and caressed and kissed along the shaft until he reached the head, then he proceeded to drive me insane. He suckled at the tip of my cock and tugged the foreskin with his lips, pulling it forward, then pushing it back, taking the head fully into his mouth. I found my hands tangling in his hair, and he murmured an encouraging sound that made his mouth vibrate. I groaned and thrust upward, unable to hold still. Yohji explored me with lips and tongue and fingers, driving me wild with the sensations. He closed his mouth around the head and softly sucked, his tongue caressing the slit with little flickering movements. At the same time, his fingers lightly traced the veins down the sides of my shaft, and back up. He tickled up and down my length and sucked delicately at the tip until I was gasping and my balls started to tighten.

Yohji paused then, raising his head to look at me, his hand pressing gently at the base of my cock, slowing everything. I whimpered, wanting this, needing him to finish. It had been too long, damn it, and he'd stopped when I was so close! My hands stroked his hair, imploring him without words; I looked at him through half-closed eyes, unable to speak, only hoping he wouldn't leave me like this. He smiled, then lowered his mouth to my aching member. I groaned loudly and thrust, helpless against my own consuming need. His tongue met my thrust with a hot, wet caress, stroking, tickling, pulling me deep into his throat. I clutched at his head and cried out as pleasure jolted through me, inevitable and unstoppable. Time seemed to hang suspended as the sensations rippled through me. Tongue and lips and throat and hand drew shiver after shiver from my willing body, prolonging my climax beyond anything I thought possible for a man.

When my muscles started to relax and my balls grew slack, Yohji still didn't allow the pleasure to stop. One hand gently squeezed around the base of my cock as his lips sucked at the underside of the head, coaxing a few more pearly droplets out to be lapped up catlike from the tip. Each touch of his tongue brought another gasp from my lips. My fingers played through his hair in silent gratitude.

Yohji moved up to sprawl across me, his mouth seeking mine. I tasted myself on his tongue. We kissed until I had to pull away to breathe. His eyes shone hot in the dim light, and I didn't need to use telepathy to know what he was thinking. This time, I kissed him. Fresh desire rose up in me, desire I hadn't dared explore since Karl, and one disastrous time with Far.

"Stop," I gasped, pushing at him. "Stop it!"

Yohji allowed me to squirm out from under him. He watched as I fled halfway across the room only to stand as if in a spotlight, with nowhere to hide. "What's wrong?" he asked, voice soft.

"I can't," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Is it Crawford?"

"No, Yohji. It's me." I paced frantically, pausing only to re-zip my jeans. "I don't belong here."

"I didn't know you were Taoist. Does anyone truly belong anywhere, Schuldig? Where do you want to be?"

I leaned back against the wall by the stereo, panic threatening to pull me under. I closed my eyes. There was no way I could explain it to him, and if I allowed this to continue… "I want," I whispered the way a child might breathe a secret wish, "to be home."

A faint change in the air told me he'd moved, and I opened my eyes. Yohji stood before me; his right hand caught hold of my left and pinned it lightly to the wall above my head. As my lips parted to speak he silenced my protest with his mouth, and my will broke. I let the wall hold me up as I melted under the passion in that kiss. My mind whirled, unable to reach out, unable to anchor, momentarily unable to hurt him.

Yohji pressed up against me, his left hand slipping behind to cup the small of my back and pull me toward him. I could feel the heat of his body against my chest. I whimpered against his mouth as my right hand floated up to his shoulder. My knees felt weak.

He released my left hand to reach up under my shirt, fingertips finding and squeezing my nipple. I groaned and sagged against him, my knees now utterly useless. He was smiling, I could taste it in his kiss. Yohji rolled my nipple between his fingertips, pinching just enough to completely reignite my lust. I clung to him, my pulse once more pounding through my loins and bringing a fresh stiffness with it.

Without a word, he took hold of my hand again and tugged me away from the wall. His eyes gleamed as he led me into his bedroom.

I followed, stumbling a little. He stopped beside the bed and began undoing my shirt, slipping each button out through its loop with slow precision. Hot kisses thrilled the sensitive skin at the base of my throat and along my collarbone. Strong, warm hands slid inside my opened shirt, caressing my sides as they pushed it back and down my arms to drop in a puddle at my feet.

Yohji's lips sought out my nipple, pulling at it as one hand slowly unzipped my pants. When his fingertips brushed across my stiffening cock, he bit lightly, startling me and exciting me even further. I caught a double handful of his hair and held him against my breast. Yohji obliged me, biting the tender nub a little harder as his hands cupped my ass and squeezed. Then he ran his hands down my legs, pulling the jeans down from the inside and helping me step free of them. Never releasing my nipple, Yohji stripped off his own shirt, the movements making his teeth tug at my flesh with random pressure.

Once I was naked and he, shirtless, Yohji straightened and looked into my eyes. _God, he's tall,_ I thought, my mind numb as he lowered his mouth to mine. He held me to him, one hand behind my head and one at the small of my back. My eyes fluttered shut as our tongues touched, his lips hot and soft against my own.

Slowly, gracefully, Yohji melted back away from me and slipped out of his pants. Then he reached for me, his fingers catching mine and pulling me after him as he knelt on the bed. He never broke eye contact as we moved, calling me to him with the force of his desire until I knelt before him on the mattress. Our heights more even now, he ran his hands up my arms, tickling the vulnerable flesh in the crook of my elbow and under my arms, a sensual thrill I had never explored before. He touched me with light feathery caresses, exploring my arms and chest and belly, smiling as my muscles flinched from the soft tickles.

I found myself mirroring his actions, starting at his fingers and caressing up the strong hands to his powerful forearms. My fingertips thrilled at the feel of his skin, the way one might caress fur or velvet for the sheer joy of it. Dimly I noticed we were breathing in unison. I let my eyelids drift shut and wallowed in the lushness of the moment, his hands upon me, mine upon him. His body was lean and hard muscled, with fine silken skin that smelled like honey. I found myself relaxing, breathing deeper as I caressed Yohji's strong chest, his finely chiseled belly, and up again to his shoulders. I decided I really liked his shoulders, and lingered there a while.

Under my hands, I felt him shift and I heard the sound of linen sliding against skin. Then he moved backwards and down, bringing me with him. I opened my eyes and found Yohji reclining against his pillows as I knelt over him in a very dominant position. That sensual mouth of his curved in a smile, a smile that echoed in his warm jade eyes.

I swallowed and sat back. "Yohji, I can't," I whispered, shaking my head. "You don't understand."

Yohji tilted his head a little and said, "Hey, it's all right. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Schuldig." He sat up and cupped my face in his hands, then kissed me tenderly.

Tears of shame slid from the corners of my eyes and my breath hitched in my throat. "I want to, that's the problem," I hissed. As though emphasizing my words, my cock throbbed. "I'm just not safe." I realized what that must have sounded like, and hurried to explain. "I can't always stay in my own head, Yohji. When I'm having sex, I start to feel what my partner is feeling, and it's too much. I spill into their head, and I hurt them. I hurt them bad." I searched his eyes for a reaction, any reaction. If he thought I was a monster, I could still get out of here with some shred of dignity.

Yohji caressed my cheek, catching my tears on his fingertips. "How do I make you stop?"

"Don't let me start," I whispered. "I'm not safe on top, Yohji. And face to face is iffy." The memory of Brad in that fisherman's shack flooded my mind with the sight of blood in moonlight, the wet copper smell of it sharp in my nostrils. My erection failed as my body tried to hide from past sins.

Yohji breathed against my lips, his tongue coaxing them to relax and part. He kissed me softly, tenderly, then murmured, "I want you to trust me. All right? I can feel when you get in my head. I won't let you hurt me, Schuldig."

My hands groped for the strength of his shoulders and I nodded, praying that he wasn't bluffing.

Yohji guided me to lie back on the bed, then rained soft kisses over my salty cheeks and eyelids. I tried to concentrate on breathing, on dismissing my fears and memories of old disasters. Strong, sure hands began exploring me again. I lay still, allowing him to take the lead.

He caressed my hips, then ran his hands slowly down my legs, rubbing gently at the tense muscles. His fingertips painted little swirls along my skin, played with the pale hair, gave me chills with each soft touch. Not hurrying, he let his hands wander back up the inner curve of my thighs, stopping short of the rising heat where my legs met. I gasped softly as his caress slid teasingly back downward, brushing across sensitive spots I never knew I had. My mind whirled, focused on my own sensations and anticipating pleasure. Out of habit, I spread my legs wider, offering myself to him.

Yohji knelt between my legs, his fingers tickling just next to my balls. Then he ran his hand through the bristly red hair at the base of my cock before catching hold of the shaft and tugging it up toward my belly. He lowered his head, his hair falling across my erection, to nuzzle my balls. His lips sought the soft skin there, kissing and caressing warmly, then closing gently over the increasingly firm sack and sucking. His hand stroked me as he mouthed my balls, rolling them across his tongue with practiced care. I clutched at his head, the pleasure almost too great.

He released my balls with a final kiss, then his tongue darted lower. I groaned, lifting my hips and hoping he was doing what I thought he was doing. Yohji didn't disappoint; hand still firm around my cock, he found my opening and pressed the tip of his tongue to the tight muscle there. He lapped at me, and fresh surges of ecstasy flashed through my body like lightning. Hot and moist, his tongue pushed into me, whispering lewd promises. My back arched and I nearly came right there, but his hand gripped me firmly and pressed down at the base, holding the climax at bay. I writhed under his ministrations, his tongue unrelenting in its conquest.

Slowly Yohji pulled back, trailing his tongue along my thigh, then up to lick the droplets from my weeping erection. Before this could send me over the edge, he released my cock and crawled forward, his gaze intent on my face. I raised my legs and caught him about the waist, trying to pull him to me. Yohji moved with me, lowering himself to press teasingly between my buttocks. He kissed me, lying full upon me for a moment as he groped at his nightstand.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see he held a jar of lubricant. I reached for it, wanting to feel his slick cock sliding in my hand before guiding it into me. With a wicked smile he held it away from me and shook his head. Yohji moved backward on the bed until he knelt by my feet, then opened the jar and scooped out some of the slippery stuff. He set the open jar next to him on the mattress, then slowly, luxuriously, began stroking himself with the lubricant. I stared, mouth open, at the sight of him: long, lean muscles rippling tautly beneath perfect golden skin, one hand caressing his own chest as the other slid over his glistening cock. He looked at me as he stroked, his eyes hot with desire. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. "Roll over."

I inhaled sharply, then did what he told me, gathering his pillow under my chest and raising my hips for him. His left hand pressed gently just above my buttocks, rubbing the tension there, then slipped lower to spread me open. Oiled fingers slid inside, first one, then two. I pushed back, and he thrust deeper, fingertips probing. A soft cry escaped my lips as he pressed against my prostate, rubbing it with deliberate slowness. The strong fingers slipped out, only to return not two but three. I buried my face in the pillow, a low growl building in my throat.

But even as I started to tense up, he stopped moving his fingers and gently reached under me to squeeze the base of my cock, holding back the climax yet again. I cursed under my breath; my pulse pounded in my balls, frustrated again at the moment of release. Yohji's left hand returned to my lower back, rubbing gently. His touch was incredibly warm.

My breathing slowed, became less ragged. I wiped my hair out of my eyes and glanced back over my shoulder.

Yohji knelt behind me, one hand on the small of my back, his other hand stroking himself. When he saw that I was watching him, he smiled and moved his hands to my buttocks, parting them. I gasped as he pushed slowly forward. My back arched, and I thrust backward to take him in all the way, but Yohji moved back with me, denying me his length. Yohji rubbed at my back, pressed gently downward until my chest lay full upon the pillow. His hands gripped my hips, raised them a little, then with excruciating slowness he pressed into me.

I whimpered into the pillow. "Gott, mein Gott, gib es mir," I pleaded, wanting more, needing more. I had never been taken with such grace, such care, before. This was bliss, and it was driving me mad.

Yohji continued his slow glide inward, pulling me back onto him in that same deliberate pace until I felt his flat belly against my skin. He paused a moment, then slid back just as slowly, lingering just within the tight ring of muscle that gripped at him with desperate lust. Then with a small movement backward he pulled out completely, making me groan in frustration. Fingers reached below me to caress my balls, then he gripped me in his fist and began stroking. As his hand cupped the head of my cock, he reentered me, not as slow as before but just as deliberate. Fingertips tickled the overly-sensitive tip as he pressed inward, and I was unable to move, caught between wanting to thrust into that wonderful hand and wanting him to fill me till I burst. I clung to the pillow and moaned.

He leaned down and nibbled the back of my neck, sending goosebumps down my arms. As his chest pressed against my back, his other hand slid under me and up to sharply tweak one hard nipple. I cried out and thrust forward, my cock throbbing in his grasp. Yohji's lips caressed the soft spot behind my ear, breathing hot against the fine hairs there and making me shiver violently.

Yohji began to thrust more powerfully, his arms wrapped around me, holding me still. His cock hit my prostate and I growled, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. He raised up from my back, one hand on my hip and the other still wrapped around my cock, now stroking in time with his own thrusts.

Distantly I felt the mental echo of Yohji's pleasure, the tight hot grip around his aching cock, the warm willing body beneath him. I found myself thrusting awkwardly back onto his cock and forward into his hand, greedy for both as my mind tried to decipher which sensations belonged to me and which were phantoms.

His breathing speeded up as he thrust deeper, harder, throwing himself into me with powerful jolts of his hips. It felt good to him, I knew it felt good because I felt it too, he was filling me with his passion, with his flesh, and I shouted as I came, "Yohji! Ach, mein Gott, Yohji!" Behind me Yohji groaned and tensed, pressing fully into me as his cock spasmed, sending its load deep inside. I clenched around him, helpless in the wash of pleasure that held me in its thrall. From far away I heard my own voice, chanting his name like a mantra.

Yohji's hair trailed across my shoulders as he kissed my back and tasted our mingled sweat. I struggled to breath more slowly; the rush of air was making my throat burn. Closing my mouth, I tried to breathe through my nose. Everything smelled like seawater and copper. I touched the back of my hand to the underside of my nose; it was wet. My eyes closed as a mixture of relief and fatigue swept over me: I hadn't harmed Yohji, I'd mind-blasted myself.

As slowly and gently as everything else he'd done that night, Yohji pulled out of me, then rolled me off the sticky spot to lie beside him. When he saw the blood, he frowned in concern. "You all right?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Yohji reached past me and grabbed a tissue from his nightstand, then dabbed at my lip. I gently took the tissue from him, wadded it up and pressed it under my nose, waiting for the flow to stop. Then Yohji took the tissue and tossed it back on the nightstand. He kissed my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, before tenderly kissing my lips. My hand rose to tangle in his hair as I kissed him back with sleepy vigor; every muscle in my body wanted sleep, even as every fibre of my being wanted Yohji.

He pulled his pillow up a bit and reclined, cradling me against his chest. Gentle fingers played with my hair, caressed my face and neck and shoulder. I wanted to lie awake in his embrace, but I was floating and heavy at the same time, and sleep would not wait. I sighed into the crook of his neck and drifted gently into dreams.

**A/N:**

_Fragile, like a baby in your arms – be gentle with me, _

_I'd never willingly do you harm_

This chapter is a turning point for the story. Things will never be quite the same…

**Translation notes –**

_Gott, mein Gott, gib es mir_ – God, my God, give it to me

**Review Mailbag:**

The waiting was driving me crazy, too. ;)

_**Mistress Of Anime**_ – (Schu hugs back) Thanks, he needed the hugs! Sorry to hear you're sick, keep reading warm stuff like this and you'll feel better in no time! :) As for chapter length…it's really not about the size, but what you do with it, ne?

_**Unseelie**_ – Thank you! :D

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – Whoo-hoo! :D I wish I had a prize to give out to my hundredth review, but all I've got is this sparkly confetti (throws confetti, then frantically blows it out of the keyboard). Maybe this chapter can count as a prize, ne? ;D

And, I'm glad you like my OC Karl. Are you reading "To Those About to Die"? He's mentioned in that one, too. As for how long the story may be, it's turning into a sort of epic, I think. The pacing is about to change, we're going to be speeding up quite a bit. You know how life sometimes gives you a series of days or weeks where every moment etches itself into your psyche, and sometimes months or years can go by without much happening? Stay tuned.

_**Lestat**_ – I'm glad you like my vision of Schuldig. He's very real to me. (There's a couple of Bond numbers in the soundtrack, come by the site and take a listen, they're really cool. The group is a sort of electric string quartet, and they do very interesting things with classical music.) Happy 2005 back at ya!

_**Star Princess Meesa**_ – Thank you, I'm so glad you like! :)

_**may**_ – And I'm glad you like my Schuldig, too. Karl is sort of his Jiminy Cricket, his conscience. As for canon, I'm breaking with it in certain select areas. (I feel like babbling about that, so I'll take it to the live journal where there's more room – come by, we'll have cake.)

_**Kari-chan**_ – Thank you for reading! :) I try to keep the updates coming out regularly. What I do is write ahead, then post one or two chapters, depending on how far ahead I get. And, for the moment the torture is over, ne? ;)


	39. 39

**39**

_I don't understand how you've done these things to me_

I cannot comprehend your lack of loyalty 

Noontime sun beat down on us as we drove toward the little bar where we had first met. Yohji and I hadn't talked much this morning; I had the feeling that everything had already been said. I also had the feeling that neither one of us really wanted me to leave, but that could have been my own vanity.

As he slid into a parking space, I unfastened my seat belt and started to lift my bundle of clothes. A hand on my arm stopped me. "Be careful," Yohji murmured, frowning behind his sunglasses. "I don't like the way the streets look today."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "I will. You too," I added, realizing that he still had to drive back to his place.

For a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. For another moment, I thought I was going to kiss him. The moments passed.

I smiled and told him, "I'll try to look you up in a couple of days."

"You know where I live," he replied, lighting a cigarette.

"See you around, Kudou," I said as I got out of the car and hefted my unwieldy bundle of clothes, all tied together by the straps of the holster.

Yohji nodded and gave a little wave.

I took a deep breath and turned toward my destination. All around were muffled thoughts, held back by my refreshed shields and easy to deflect. Behind me I could sense Yohji, watching me walk away. I briefly considered going back to the car, leaving this insane life and starting a new one in Amsterdam, but I didn't look back. Nagi needed me, and Brad was going to be leaving with Farf any time now. And I had promised I would be there.

The Seven roared to life again, and sped off the way it had come.

My steps didn't falter. I had work to do, an obligation to fulfill. I would be there.

By the time I stood at the door to our apartment, I had nearly convinced myself that this was for the best.

The door opened. Nagi looked up at me with eyes too old for a child and ushered me inside. I set the bundle down by the door. "They didn't leave yet, did they?"

Before he could answer, Brad's voice came from his room. "Ah, excellent. You're right on time."

I turned to see a Brad transformed, and my mouth hung open. His hair had been trimmed short, the sideburns lightened to grey. He sported a neat black mustache that couldn't have been his own, there hadn't been enough time. He wore no glasses, and his eyes were blue. As he strode toward me, he adjusted the cuffs on his Italian suit jacket, charcoal in color. The effect was of a very rich and powerful man, a man with soft, unbloodied hands.

"You're staring," Brad said, smirking at me.

"You're right!" I blurted. "Damn, Brad! I'm impressed!"

"Don't be. I'm trying to be unnoticed."

"It'll never work on me," I replied with a smile.

Brad reached into his jacket and produced two passports. "These are yours," he stated, handing them to me. "One is Austrian, the other French. If you need to move out while I'm gone, use the French one and hide the other one securely. Nagi already has his, you won't have to worry about that. The car will stay here. We'll be taking another to the airport. Make sure all your stuff is either stowed in the car or ready to go. I won't have any missteps at this stage. Any questions?"

I tried to think of one, but nothing came. Instead, I opened the passports and studied them. The one that said I was French showed me with shorter brown hair and sported the name of Armand Duvier. It had been stamped for entry into Japan. The Austrian passport had a picture of me with lighter hair, and according to it I was one Ritter Stedmann. It, too, had been stamped in Japan, but in addition to that I had apparently visited China beforehand. My eyebrow went up and I asked, "Why China?"

"We all have identities in China now, and you are known to travel through there regularly. Congratulations, you're a photographer," Brad told me, not smiling. "We may have to go there for a while. I'll let you know when I get back."

"They're here," Farfarello called softly from his room, and I nearly panicked before I realized he meant the other car.

Brad looked into my eyes, the contact lenses eerily mirroring my own color. He gave a slight sigh and nodded. "Take care of him, Schu. We'll be back in two and a half days. Remember, if that phone rings, get out fast." He gripped my arms gently, then pulled me to him and kissed me.

I melted against him, while inside my soul conflict raged.

Behind me, Farf cleared his throat softly. Brad pulled away from me, gazing once more into my eyes. Then he turned to speak with Nagi, and I turned toward Far.

Farfarello wore a chauffeur's uniform, the hat tucked under his arm. All visible skin had been bronzed with liquid tan. His hair had been dyed black, a braided extension hanging between his shoulder blades. On his face, a "tattooed" dragon obscured the scars, and instead of an eyepatch he wore forbiddingly dark wraparound sunglasses. With great precision he lifted the hat and set it in place, tilting it very slightly over his missing eye.

"Looks good, Far," I murmured, quite amazed at the effect. He looked like a Chinese mafia bodyguard or something.

"I'll bring him back safe," Farfarello replied, his voice soft. "You keep the boy safe. That's your job this time."

I nodded.

Brad opened the door and paused. He looked back at me, then smiled. "Two and a half days." Then he was gone, Farfarello carrying two small suitcases behind him.

Nagi closed the door, then sighed heavily. "I hate this."

"What did he tell you, kiddo?" I asked, hoping it was more information than he'd given me.

"Nothing useful. We're not to leave the apartment unless we have to. Either one of us." Nagi glared at me, then added, "Especially not you."

"That figures," I grumbled, reaching for my bundle of clothes and storming into my bedroom. Damn, this was going to be bad. The kid still hated me for being an asshole, and I really couldn't blame him. But, hell, did he have to hold a grudge? I untied my things, then refolded everything relevant. I put the holster back on and took the gun from my waistband. Probably didn't need it in the apartment, but after the fiasco with Nagi when I had been unarmed, I didn't care to take the chance.

Hauling Far's jacket out with me, I bundled it back into his travel bag, then headed for the kitchen.

Nagi sat at the kitchen table, picking at a bowl of plain rice.

"Hey, chibi?" I pulled a chair over next to him and sat. I had to ask him this, or we'd never make it for the next two days. "Do you hate me now, or what?"

Nagi looked up, his eyes dark. "No."

I sighed and tried again. "Look, just tell me, okay? Something isn't right, and now that we're stuck together for a couple of days, I want to know what's going on with you."

"Does there have to be something wrong with me, Schu? Is that the only reason you came back?"

I sat back, stunned. "No, chibi, that's not it at all."

Nagi merely stared.

"Kiddo, we are Schwarz," I told him. "Now and forever. We've thrown our lot in with Brad and Farfarello, and with each other. We are a team, and I will never abandon my team." I swallowed hard. "Not for anyone."

"Will Brad?"

Remembering my own fears, I thought about my own answers to them. "No, Nagi. He won't betray us."

"Will he die?"

My breath hitched in my chest. Swallowing again, I shook my head and told him, "He'd know, kiddo. He'd know and at least warn us if it were at all possible. Brad promised they'd be back in two and a half days, and I believe him."

"But they say precogs never See their own death," Nagi asserted, hanging onto his fear like a bulldog. "How would he be able to warn us if he didn't See anything?"

"Chibi, that's the whole idea." I didn't like this topic, but I had to see it through before it took any deeper hold on the kid. "Brad Saw his return to Japan, right? So obviously he won't die on this trip. If he hadn't Seen anything after, then I'd be worried." _Worried sick,_ I thought, but refrained from saying.

Changing direction as smoothly as a bird in flight, Nagi asked, "So where were you, anyway?"

I got up and walked toward the fridge. "Nowhere important."

"Bullshit, Schuldig. Crawford wasn't happy about it, so it had to be something bad."

The bottle of water trembled in my grip. I couldn't decide if I was angry, or terrified. "Chibi, leave it alone, okay?"

The chair scraped across the floor, then soft footsteps left the kitchen.

I opened the water, nearly spilling it in the process. Damn, that kid was too fucking smart. And observant, just like Yohji. I leaned against the counter and tried to calm down.

Nagi avoided me for the rest of the afternoon, staying in his room except for the occasional foray to the toilet. I tried to watch some television, but I was too agitated. It was bad enough leaving the sanctuary of Kudou's apartment; leaving it for Nagi's chill was damn near unbearable.

Dinnertime found me staring at the contents of the refrigerator as cold air seeped into the kitchen.

Nagi ghosted in around me and pulled some boxes from the top shelf, then said, "You can shut the door now."

I stared at him. "What, are you in charge of food?"

"Unless you were at a two-day cooking academy, yes."

I retreated to the table and watched him portion out food onto plates, then place one in the microwave. "Chibi," I started, "do you remember the time in Brad's apartment, before the team was complete?"

"You mean when I was just a little kid, and you had to take care of me?"

"Yeah, that."

"You were barely competent, you know."

"Thanks," I growled. "So, what special instructions did Brad leave for you, gaki?"

"I told you," he said, bringing over a plate and chopsticks and setting them in front of me. "Keeping you out of trouble and inside the apartment."

"Kiddo, I'm not going anywhere."

Nagi only stared at me, his eyes vaguely accusing.

"I mean it, Nagi." Then I remembered something he'd said, and I met his gaze. "I won't abandon you. Ever."

The boy offered me a very small smile, then turned to retrieve his dinner.

I watched him eat. He picked at his food, choosing the smallest pieces of meat and avoiding the larger vegetables. He sipped tea between each bite. This was odd, even for him. "Nagi, are you all right?"

He sighed, his thin shoulders hunching with the movement. "I throw up if I eat too much," he whispered. "Sometimes it's okay, but if I get a headache, I throw up, and it hurts more if I ate a lot."

Fear clutched at my chest. "Does Brad know about this?"

Nagi nodded. "He told me to eat small bites, and to go slowly. And I'm not supposed to use my powers, not even to practice. It makes it worse."

"Did he get you any medicine?" Anger was quickly replacing the fear. Damn Brad for leaving the kid in this condition! And damn him for not telling me.

"I can't take it. It makes me sick." Nagi continued picking delicately at his meal.

I had lost my appetite. "So what the hell am I supposed to do for you? What do I do if you get sick?"

Nagi looked at me, his young face solemn. "You help me clean it up, Schu. That's all you can do. Crawford said it would pass in time. I just have to be extra careful right now."

I reached for a cigarette, then realized I didn't have any on me. Besides, I wasn't supposed to smoke around the kid, and if he was having problems keeping food down, that was the last thing he needed to smell. "Nagi, do me a favor. Tell me if you start to feel sick, okay? And, talk to me? I didn't know you were having problems like that."

"You weren't here."

I slammed my hand on the table, jarring my shoulder. "Damn it, Nagi! Brad told me to go!"

"You didn't have to stay gone the whole time."

I stared at my small accuser. "He told me to," I repeated. "Brad told me that he knew I'd be gone that long, and he didn't tell me not to. I'm sorry I wasn't here, Nagi, but that's how it had to be."

Nagi sighed and pushed back from the table. "Whatever, Schuldig."

Leaping to my feet, I intercepted him at the doorway. "Nagi, please! Don't keep fighting me!"

The boy turned and glared. "You don't get it, do you? You're treating this like some kind of holiday. Crawford needs the team to stay together, and you keep going off on your own." Nagi's eyes narrowed. "Do you want to know where he went, Schuldig?"

I stopped, mouth suddenly dry. "He told you?"

"He said that once they had left the apartment it would be safe to tell you. Do you want to know?"

"Where?"

"Switzerland. Right under Esset's nose."

My legs buckled and I sank to the floor. "God, no," I murmured. No wonder he hadn't wanted to tell me. It wasn't about me leaking the information, I would have found a way to stop him from leaving. "Why the hell does he have to go there?"

"He's closing all his accounts at one of those anonymous banks," Nagi said, sinking down to sit beside me. "That's why Farf was all done up like a bodyguard. That, and they're hoping they won't be recognized." Big indigo eyes gazed up at me, all hardness gone now, replaced with fear. "They'll be safe, though, right, Schu? He Saw they'd be safe, didn't he?"

I swallowed and forced myself to nod. "Yeah, he Saw he'd be back in Japan," I whispered, somehow less than convinced. This was going to be a long two days.

"Did he see Farfarello coming back with him?"

"Yeah, kiddo. They'll both be fine," I said, the lie rolling off my tongue with ease. Brad had never mentioned Farf's welfare on this trip, only his own. But I couldn't let the kid worry. Desperate to change the subject, I said, "Come on, let's watch some TV or something."

"Schuldig, you know I don't watch that crap."

I got up from the floor and hauled Nagi up with me. "Tonight, that will change."

Nagi rolled his eyes at me. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. Consider it a cultural experience."

It turned out to be a cultural experience all right, but the joke was on me. I couldn't find a damn thing that wasn't in Japanese. Finally I switched the TV off. "All right, you win. Music, maybe?"

"Schu, you know I can't," Nagi protested.

Yohji's words echoed back to me, and I smiled a little. "Chibi, we're going to be on the run, if Brad's right about that part. Do you think you'll be able to avoid all those things that they said would be bad for you? I'd rather get you used to music a little bit, at least. Besides," I added, realizing the truth of it as I said it, "I'll need the music to stay clear in my head."

Nagi sighed. "Whatever. I'm going to bed."

"Wait a minute, will you?" I got my CDs from my bag and went for the stereo. "Just humor me, okay? You didn't power up at the rave club, right? I think this stuff will be okay for you, and it's what I'm going to be listening to whether you like it or not."

The boy settled back on the couch, pulling a pillow into his embrace and closing his eyes as the music started. I could feel his discomfort, his worry born of habit and training. I kept the volume low, and hoped to hell I wasn't going too fast for him.

After a few minutes, he looked up at me and grudgingly said, "Well, it doesn't suck."

"Glad you like it."

"Can I go to bed now?"

I sighed. "Sure, kid. If you want to, go for it." A thought occurred to me, and I asked, "Unless you want to stay in my room with me, like you used to?"

"Please, Schuldig," Nagi muttered, rising, "I'm not a child anymore."

"No, I can see that."

"Besides, you'd probably have one of those noisy dreams of yours and make the bedsprings squeak until I woke up."

"Nagi!"

"Schuldig." He folded his arms across his chest, his expression daring me to deny his allegation.

"Ah, hell. Go to bed already."

I stayed up, listening to my music and thinking about the team, and Yohji. Brad, in Switzerland. God, that was one of the worst places he could have gone. But he'd promised to return to us.

His visions weren't always accurate.

Worry kept me awake through the night. Each time Nagi left his room for the toilet, I listened for the sound of retching, but it never came. I tried not to think about Brad and Far, deep within enemy territory. By sunrise, I found myself thinking about Yohji, sleeping by day as though he alone stood against the demons of the night.

All I wanted was for time to pass more quickly, before I fretted myself into total insomnia.

Dimly I noticed small hands draping a blanket over me on the couch, then awareness fled as I passed into a deeper sleep in the early morning sunlight.

**A/N:**

_I don't understand how you've done these things to me _

_I cannot comprehend your lack of loyalty_

"Marilyn, My Bitterness" from CXS _Telemetry_. This isn't Brad's tantrum – it's Nagi's.

**Another quick note** to remind you about my yahoo group: :) All are free to join! There is no fee! Come by and sign up and you'll get something in you in-box that looks vaguely like this:

_"Personal notes and gobbledy-gook..... Then to the meat of the stuff (basically what I'm working on):_

_Story: COMING HOME_

(Personal crap relating to the workings of the fiction...then what everyone is waiting for...) 

_Uploaded to (all the websites that the story is posted on):_

Chapters 1-38 (Chapters 32-38 are new since the last update!)

Chapters 39 and 40 are in the final editing process, so expect them to roll into the upload banks soon!

Chapter 41 is in the beta reading stage.

Chapter 42 is in the editing and revision stage. (second draft)

Chapters 43 is being written (first draft).

It's gonna get hectic from here. 

_(More crap relating to other works...and then a final note concerning my livejournal.)_

I really do feel that the group allows me to touch base with my fans better and in the future I plan on putting up links and pictures and things for you all to check out. Get to know me so to speak. :) So if this stuff interests you...the like to the group is in my on by!

**Now for the review mailbag!:**

(bows to all) Thank you, thank you! I'm so glad you like this story as much as I do. If you visit my website and check out the soundtrack stuff, let me know what you think, okay?

**_Yanagi-sen_** – Yep, things be changed, for everyone. If you want to know more about Karl, check out Berger's story ("To Those About to Die") – seems he knew Karl, too… Yohji just seems the type to go off on a place like Rosenkreuz. He's encountered that kind of abuse before, and will never stand for it.

**_Silverfrost_** – Welcome to the party! As for making things all right for Schu…define "all right"? I can say this: by story's end, he will have had everything his heart desires. Fair enough?

**_Lestat_** – Yummy indeed! I enjoyed writing it, too.

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – I heard you squealing and clapping – you're in the third row back, left side, yes?

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – I've always thought Schu and Yotan were total sexpots, so it's natural they end up together, ne? Ooh, Farf and Crawford glomping? Dangerous hobby you have there, my dear!

**_MikaSamu_** – Thank you! I'm glad I could warm up your winter afternoon. You're right about the road ahead, it's about to get bumpy for all involved.

**_Arileo_** – (smile) Have I mentioned how much I love writing this fic?

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – And you're the one squealing loudly in the center balcony, right? (waves) I'll be updating "To Those…" pretty soon; I'm nearly at the point where I can drop a spoiler there.


	40. 40

**40**

_Where do I take this pain of mine?_

_I run, but it stays right by my side_

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Positive," Nagi replied as he knelt on the floor and closed his eyes. "I want to know, Schuldig."

I sighed and shook my head. This wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to be doing with Brad gone, in case anything went wrong. But Nagi's sense of pride wouldn't allow this to become a public spectacle, even with his own teammates, so it had to be now, or not at all. I sat in front of him and put my hands on his shoulders. "If you start to feel sick, stop, okay? And if I hurt you, tell me immediately."

"Just do it."

"Okay, kiddo. Like we practiced it: relax." Switching to mental speech, I continued the instructions. ::Relax, and focus. Am I clear to you?::

::Yes. It doesn't hurt yet. Keep going.::

Pushing down my own misgivings, I ventured deeper into Nagi's mind. Unlike Farfarello's chaotic mental poetry and Brad's stark inner office, Nagi's intellect had formed a neat, interconnected web that reminded me of computer circuitry. Everything followed a logical order, showing me what I needed to see with very little effort. This was both a good thing, and bad – good for me, but I still didn't know what all had been done to him at Rosenkreuz, and if a team-level telepath could get in so easily, it bothered me to think about what a training-level one could do.

::Okay, Nagi, now I want you to reach for your powers. Reach, but do not touch.::

Intention made action: tiny flashes of lightning flowed through his thought process as Nagi focused more deeply inward and reached toward the source of his gift. Flickers of pain echoed back. ::Okay, stop, stop!:: I pulled back from his mind just enough to reconnect with my own eyes and look at him. All color had drained from his face. ::Nagi, just ease back, okay? Ease back, and calm your body down.::

The boy took a shuddering breath, then a more easy one. Slowly the pain receded and Nagi began to visibly relax.

Damn, this wasn't good. I wasn't trained for this kind of work. There were specialists who could block and unlock powers telepathically, but that wasn't something they'd seen fit to teach me. I didn't want to go fumbling about in Nagi's head: a mistake would be devastating. But I couldn't just let the kid suffer, either. "Nagi, can you hear me?"

"Yes. Are we stopping now?" His voice sounded strained.

"Do you want to?"

"No. Do I have to?"

I reached out and cupped his cheek; the skin was cool and a little clammy. "No, kiddo, we can try it again, if you want. I just don't want to hurt you."

Nagi opened his eyes and gave me one of those too-old stares. "I don't want to let the team down, Schu. I don't want to let Crawford down. If we have to fight, I have to be ready."

I nodded. "Okay, let's try this again, with feeling."

Nagi rolled his eyes at me. "Schuldig, this isn't a stage performance."

"How do you know about that sort of stuff?" I asked, baffled that my comment hadn't gone right over his head.

"I've seen you watch those old movies, Schu."

I couldn't resist. "So watching me watch movies is okay, but you won't watch them yourself?"

"Schuldig, it's different. You know that." Nagi stretched, then resumed his pose and shut his eyes.

Something occurred to me then. "Chibi, if I find something in your head that shouldn't be there, what should I do about it?" If I could remove the suggestions that his restrictions were necessary, that would change everything.

"Do whatever you think Crawford would tell you to do," Nagi replied.

I reached out for his mind again. On impulse I told him, ::Chibi, trust me and let go for a minute.:: I felt him frown, but his thoughts drifted to a lower frequency, mimicking sleep, allowing me to take control of his mind directly. This would leave me wrung out and likely in pain, but if it would help Nagi, it was more than worth it.

Testing the connection, I made him raise and lower his right hand; easy enough. I'd done that to people plenty of times, taken simple motor control from them. Now, the tricky part. Slowly I felt for the reins of his power. I'd never done this before, but I did know the theory. If I could make things move using Nagi's mind, the problem was in the programming, so to speak. If I couldn't, or if it caused him pain for me to try, it was probably something wrong with the hardware. I wasn't sure which was the preferred outcome.

"Itai!" Nagi hissed aloud.

::Calm, kiddo, find the calm,:: I told him, trying to back out of his mind as quickly as I safely could.

::Schuldig, I'm gonna throw up.::

Regaining my own motor controls, I reached for the little trash can I'd put near us for just such emergency. I barely got it in front of him in time. As Nagi clung to it and retched, I hurried to the bathroom for a washcloth.

Kneeling beside him, I gently rubbed at his back and shoulders, waiting for him to finish. Then I wiped his face with the washcloth, cleaning up the spittle from his mouth. Hand shaking, Nagi reached up to take the cloth from me to finish the job.

On the table waited a bottle of headache pills and a cup of water. I helped myself, then offered some to Nagi. He shook his head, preferring the pain over a renewed bout of nausea. He did take the cup and rinse out his mouth, spitting into the trash can with a grimace.

"You done?" At his weak nod, I took the trash can from him and went to dump it in the toilet. My own head was pounding now. The backlash had hit with full force.

Returning to the living room, I found Nagi still kneeling but curled up in a little ball on the floor. I sat beside him and stroked his hair. "Ah, kiddo," I murmured. "It was a good try. We'll work more on it later, okay? I promise, I'll help you fix it, if I can."

"Can you?" Nagi whispered. "I'm scared. What if it can't be fixed?"

"Then you help the team in other ways, chibi," I told him, understanding his fear was not for himself but for Schwarz. "You're still a computer genius, right? That'll be important, I know it will."

"Are you a precog now?" Nagi murmured, turning his head a little to look up at me.

I smiled at him and blurted out the first funny thing I could think of. "They say you are what you eat, right?"

That one eye peeking up at me rolled and shut. "I didn't need to know that. Thanks for the visual."

"Do you want some aspirin now?"

"After that lame joke? Yes, please." Nagi slowly uncurled and sat up, his features knotted in pain.

I gave him the pills and water. Nagi's hand was steady as he took them from me, though he winced as he fought the aspirin down.

With a heavy sigh I turned and looked toward the window. Though the curtains were shut, I could see the faint glow of streetlights at the edges. Damn, this exercise had barely taken half an hour and the kid was wiped. So was I, for that matter. And we had another day to go before Brad got back. I rubbed at my eyes. I had to pull myself together, for Nagi's sake.

"Schuldig?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Arigato," he said with a tiny nod; his headache wouldn't allow for any more movement than that. "You don't have to do it again. It won't do any good anyway."

"We don't know that for certain, Nagi," I told him. I wasn't about to admit defeat, it just wasn't in my nature. "Think of it like a broken bone. Of course it hurts to try to use it without a cast on it, and it can't mend that way. You have to keep the bone straight and supported, or it won't get better, right?"

"Schuldig, are you calling me a bonehead?" Nagi asked, totally straight-faced.

I snorted a laugh in spite of myself. "Well, now that you mention it," I retorted. "But seriously, no, I'm trying to make a point."

"By talking in circles. As usual."

"Chibi, what I was trying to say is, this is an injury we can't splint. Of course it's going to hurt if you try to use it before it's healed."

"So when will it be healed?" Nagi asked, blunt as always.

I sighed and shook my head. "Kiddo, that's the part I don't know. Brad might have an idea, but I just don't know. I think it might help if we work together, try to get past the pain and let you test it a little. But that's going to take some time."

"I hate this," Nagi stated with no emotion behind the words. "I hate being helpless."

"You still have your intellect, Nagi," I reminded him. "You're not helpless, you're just…" I stopped. I'd nearly called him "normal," which, powers or no, Nagi most certainly was not.

"Broken."

"No, kiddo. You're not broken. Just, well, a little bruised. You'll mend." I gave him one of my encouraging smiles, and as usual he rolled his eyes at me like I was some kind of pervert. I ignored it. "And until you do mend, remember, the majority of sixteen-year-olds do not have telekinesis, and they do just fine. You're a fucking genius, Nagi. A genius who has a way with computers. And if you need to fight, I did teach you how to use a gun."

"Schuldig," Nagi replied with dry patience, "the majority of sixteen-year-olds are not being hunted by Esset, either."

I paused, considering something Brad and I had only just touched on, but never fully discussed. Were they after the team, or individuals? If the latter, which of us did they want to take back, and why?

"I can tell you're going there," Nagi stated, watching me. "They never figured out how strong I am. Now they know I can hold back the sea. Who do you think they're after?"

"Kiddo…"

"No, Schuldig. You can't convince me that I'm wrong. And you can't make it better." Nagi got up and slowly paced around the room. "They're after me, and they don't know that I'm broken. When they find out, they'll kill us all."

"Then," I stated just as firmly, "we make certain they don't find out. That's what a team is about, Nagi. We watch out for each other. Why would you use your powers and draw attention to yourself if we can do the same things without it? We'll find a way, and you'll mend, and things will turn out all right."

"Brad says you're going to join Kritiker," Nagi said, not looking at me. "Is it true, Schuldig? Are you?"

I blinked. The thought hadn't crossed my mind, until that moment. I did have a contact, but he didn't work for them anymore. "No, Nagi. I am not. I won't leave the team," I told him, rising to join him by the kitchen doorway. "Why the hell would he tell you something like that?"

"Because he knows you," Nagi replied. "Maybe he's hoping that by telling me it won't happen. That's why I told you about it. I don't want you to go." He looked up at me, his eyes shiny and dark. "I don't want you to go."

"I won't, kiddo." What I will do, I thought to myself, is get in Crawford's shit about his scaring the kid like that.

"Don't fight with him," Nagi said, clearly picking up on my intentions. "I just want us to be okay."

I regarded this intense young man, this incredibly beautiful human being, and smiled. "Nagi, we will be okay. Schwarz will get through this. We're the most amazing team ever put together, we can handle anything."

"You really think so, or are you just talking?"

I leaned down to look into his face, my hands on his shoulders. "Nagi, I believe we can get through this. It may not be easy, it probably won't be pleasant, but we can do this, because we're a team. Now, did Brad tell you anything else that'll get me pissed off? I'd rather get it out of the way now, if you don't mind."

Nagi thought a moment, then shook his head. "No, that was it."

"Feel like eating anything?" I asked as I remembered we were right by the kitchen. "How's your head? Aspirin working for you?"

"No food, thanks, but some tea would be nice. Head's still attached. Aspirin is working a little, I guess."

I led him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. The little clock on the microwave told me it was nearly nine. I put water on for tea and rummaged in the fridge. My head still hurt like a bitch, but I needed food. I found the takeout box and smiled, remembering Yohji's apartment.

Then I frowned. Kritiker? Why would Brad See something like that?

"Schuldig?"

"I'm okay, chibi," I said, dishing up some food for myself and stuffing the plate in the microwave. "Just thinking."

"I'll leave you alone then, I know that's not easy for you."

"Ha ha. Cute. Real cute." Though I growled at him, inwardly it made me smile that he could still be so damn rude to me. I had trained him well.

As he sipped his tea and I worked on my leftovers, I asked him, "Nagi, what would you like to see happen with the team? I mean, we're on the run, but that doesn't mean we can't have a good time at it."

"Schuldig, how many times do I need to tell you? This isn't a holiday. It's not about having a good time."

"Fine, so how would you prefer to be miserable, then? Cold and wet? Hungry?"

Nagi glared at me. "I'm not an idiot, Schuldig. I don't want to be miserable, I'm just telling you this is not the time to be thinking about fun. Hell, you probably think Crawford left you here to watch over me, don't you? I think it's the other way around. He knew you and Farf would get into trouble if he left you together."

"Well, you do have a point, kid. But seriously, you're part of the team, you should have a say in how our great escape is pulled off, right? What would you like to see happen, here?"

Nagi sighed, obviously resigning himself to humoring me. He frowned a little as he thought about it, then said, "I'd like to see us beat them."

"But we already did that!" I said, exasperated.

"No, Schu. We haven't." He regarded me with those ancient eyes and said, "We broke the iceberg. There's more. Much more. And it's all bad. Any part of it could kill us. Every part of it wants to. Or take us back. I want to see it all gone." Nagi looked down at his teacup and mumbled, "I want to see us make it gone."

**A/N:**

_Where do I take this pain of mine? _

_I run, but it stays right by my side_

Metallica, "Until It Sleeps" from _Load_. In Brad's absence, we go back to his music for this one. The main reason for this song is something Nagi says at the end of the chapter. Overall the song reminds me of anyone who survived Rosenkreuz and is now looking for a way to get Rosenkreuz out of their soul.


	41. 41

**41**

_Time to go…_

I lay on the couch, watching the TV with the sound off. I sighed and rubbed my temples; at least the headache had finally started to fade.

The practice sessions with Nagi had been disastrous. He couldn't use his telekinesis without blinding pain, which left him sick and limp with exhaustion. And try though I might, I couldn't unlock it for him, which either meant that I just didn't know what I was doing, or he was too badly hurt for it to work. For the first time in my life, I really hoped I was just incompetent.

I had to hand it to the kid: Nagi certainly had courage. If I'd been in that much pain and puking my guts up every damn time, I would have stopped at two attempts, if not one. But he made it through seven sessions over a two-day span, without a single complaint. Each time, he'd simply wait it through, eat a little plain rice, then tell me he wanted to try it again. And each time I'd wanted to tell him "no," but couldn't bear to.

Now Nagi was in the bathtub, resting in the soothing hot water after our final practice work. There was no way we were going for another round tonight. Brad and Farf should be arriving any hour now, any minute, really, and I wasn't going to have them find a fucked-up Nagi and an exhausted telepath when they got here.

I looked around the room. All our stuff was in the trunk of the car downstairs, except for two small bags that held a couple of clothing changes and my hair color maintenance crap. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I had the feeling that we should be ready to move out on a moment's notice. Maybe it was just a matter of being around Brad for so long.

From the bathroom came the sounds of Nagi getting out of the tub and pulling the drain plug. For the tenth time that hour I checked my watch. I'd finally found the damn thing in the bottom of my old gym bag, under all those spare clothes. It wasn't my nicer watch – that one had been lost at sea – and digital would have been better, but it ran and it was fairly accurate. Now it showed nearly nine p.m., Thursday, June 15. Shit. Only ten minutes since I last looked.

I got up and paced. Something was bothering me, and I couldn't pin it down. A sense of foreboding, but why? I resisted the temptation to reach out with my thoughts and check. If there were any psi operatives out there, they'd feel that sweep and attack. Damn, I hated being so blind! My left hand drifted back to the gun under my right arm. I'd put the holster on around five. Nagi hadn't said anything about it, but I know it made him uncomfortable. He felt helpless without his powers, and he hated firearms.

Nagi's bedroom door clicked shut. I hadn't even noticed him leave the bathroom. I took the opportunity to make use of the toilet, then resumed my pacing. On impulse, I flexed my right shoulder a few times. Not so bad today. I took off the holster, reversed it, and put it back on. That felt so much better! I practiced drawing my gun a few times, the movement becoming easier with each pass.

I heard Nagi's door open again, then the sound of soft footsteps making their way toward the kitchen. I followed Nagi to the fridge and peeked over his shoulder. Glancing down, I saw that he, too, wore a holstered pistol tonight. I swallowed. "Hand me one of those waters, will you?" I asked, suddenly not so hungry.

Nagi handed me a bottle and got himself some rice and pickles. He made a few onigiri and asked if I wanted any. I shook my head.

We sat at the kitchen table, Nagi with his snack and me with my water. I didn't particularly like drinking water, but I was starting to get used to it.

::Schuldig…::

I jumped. The mental touch had taken me by surprise. ::Brad?!:: His signature was unmistakable; they were home.

The key turned in the lock; Nagi started to power up, then quickly stopped and drew his gun.

Hastily I gestured for Nagi to put his gun away. "It's Brad, they're back."

Nagi wilted visibly, re-holstering his sidearm and sagging in his chair. He looked like he had the beginnings of a mild headache.

I paused, torn between greeting our teammates and tending Nagi's pain. Either I was projecting or he read it in my face; in a soft voice Nagi said, "I'm all right, Schu, it's not that bad."

Standing up, I started to wave 'hello'. As Farf secured the door, Brad checked his watch, then hurried toward his bedroom. For some reason, the little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Something wasn't right.

Farfarello took his travel bag into the bathroom, while Brad tossed his own suitcase on his bed, the door still wide open. To Nagi I said, "Finish your food, kiddo. I'll be right back," before dashing across the apartment and coming to an abrupt halt in Brad's doorway.

Not even turning toward me, Brad finished undressing at record speed, shedding the suit and fake mustache and contact lenses with little concern where they landed. "Schuldig, I trust you are both well?"

"Uh, yeah." I just stared as he put on slacks and a knit shirt, then a light blazer.

"Everything in the car?"

"Except what's sitting by the door," I told him. "Brad, what's –"

Brad looked up at me, his eyes faintly bloodshot. "It's time."

I ran back to the kitchen. "Nagi, pack your snack."

"I'm done already," Nagi told me. "What's going on?"

"I think we're leaving."

Abandoning his plate, Nagi turned and sprinted to his bedroom. I raided the fridge, grabbing everything that looked worth salvaging. I didn't know what kind of exit we'd be making, or what our food situation would be, but damned if I was letting that kid go hungry. To make room for the food, I took my new leather blazer out of my bag and put it on, hoping it wouldn't be too damn hot. Almost an afterthought, I grabbed my new passports. I stuffed the Austrian one in the jacket and the other in my jeans.

Within ten minutes, Brad's grey sideburns were once again black, his brown eyes hidden behind eyeglasses. Farf had removed his hair extension and the fake tattoo, while leaving his hair black and re-bronzing his skin. The Irishman pulled on a lightweight hooded jacket and jeans and stuffed his chauffeur outfit back in the travel bag.

Brad made a quick search through each room, then surveyed his team. We stood ready by the door, Nagi and I with sidearms under our jackets, Farf no doubt with something nastier under his own.

Brad looked at his watch, seeming to count the seconds. Then: "Let's go."

Farf led the way out of the apartment, Nagi close behind him. I paused, waiting for Brad. Our leader took one last look inside, tossed the key into the living room, and shut the door.

Within, the phone started to ring.

We ran. I darted past Farfarello and unlocked the car, then looked back at Brad.

The order came loud and clear. ::Drive.::

As my teammates poured into the car, I turned the key in the ignition. Five seconds later we were pulling out of the parking garage and onto the street.

By the time we reached the corner, two cars with their lights off cruised onto the street behind us. They parked in front of the apartment building.

"Just drive, Schu. Let me watch them," Brad instructed calmly, again checking the time. "We have gained a few critical minutes. Head for the airport."

Ignoring any possible pursuit, I concentrated on blending in with the sparse traffic and aiming in the right direction. I touched Brad's thoughts to verify which way I needed to go, then speeded up a little.

To my left, Brad was staring at his watch.

From the back seat, Farfarello said, "I see them."

Brad looked up. "Floor it."

I hit the gas, swerving around a slower car and running a traffic light. Behind us I could hear the screech of brakes. I gritted my teeth and drove, momentarily regretting that I had never taken the Rosenkreuz combat driving certification. Then again, I realized that meant I could surprise those who had. My snarl turned into a nasty grin and I began evading in earnest.

Brad navigated me through a different route, heading toward the highway access ramp via back roads instead of main ones. I frowned a little, unsure why he would do this. We had to go slower this way, and our pursuers would eventually catch up. I said as much to Crawford, who didn't even have his gun out.

"That's precisely what I'm counting on," Brad stated. "Now calm down, focus, and drive."

I followed his directions without any more questions. Soft tendrils of searching thought touched my mind; I tried to make my shields look as uninteresting as possible. The touch faded. "Brad, they're scanning for us," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"They're scanning for _you_," Brad corrected. "They can't read the rest of us as easily. It's all right, they won't find you. Just go."

As I turned the last corner toward the highway on-ramp, several slower cars merged around us. Brad put his hand on my shoulder. "Turn left. _Now_."

I didn't ask, I just hit the brake and spun the wheel and hoped to hell he knew what he was doing. The access ramp vanished behind us as I hit the gas and dodged into a narrow side street.

Brad reached across me and turned off our headlights. "Head for the docks. Nagi, get out your primary passport." He pulled something out of a pocket and handed it back to the kid. "I apologize for the rough conditions, but I couldn't let you use these until we were away."

I glanced over, but couldn't see what he'd given Nagi. "What is it?"

"Brown contact lenses," Brad stated. "They had to see Schwarz leave that apartment and head for the airport. It will be another foursome altogether leaving Japan."

"Brad," I asked, "where _are_ we going? After the docks, I mean."

Crawford smiled and pushed his eyeglasses back up. "We're taking a slow boat to China."

**A/N:**

_Time to go… _

A spoken bit from _The Wall_, between "Bring the Boys Back Home" and "Comfortably Numb". Cue up the soundtrack, keep all body parts within the car, and hold onto your butts – this is where the ride begins in earnest.

Translation notes –

_onigiri_ – rice balls, a sort of quick snack of cooked rice and whatever looks good (in this case, pickles)

Culture notes –

Typically, in Germany, water is viewed as something animals drink, not as something people drink. Bottled water is okay, but Schu is too much of a caffeine addict to appreciate it.

**Review Mailbag:**

Hi all! I'm putting a special Weiss Counterpoint Storypreview in my live journal, come take a look.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – chapter 39 – Oh, no kidding about wanting to read Brad's mind! And, yes, there is much going on with Nagi…

– chapter 40 – My Schu/Nagi dynamic is a deep one, and I'm glad you felt the power of it with such force. That means I'm telling it right.

Foreshadowing? Me? Would I do that to you? –

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – French, eh? ;; Um, here goes: "Good! Very good C'est!! Your history is brilliant. There is to captivate and marvelously written. I l'adore... eh, sorry. I make my French duties. I n'anime not each beacoup." (courtesy of AltaVista Babelfish Translator) I get the feeling you like the story, ne?

**_Lestat_** – chapter 39 – Oh, the Farf disguises are fun for me, too.

– chapter 40 – Define soon? Chapter-wise, probably. As far as Schuldig is concerned, not damn soon enough! – Oh, and all you Farfarello fans out there – brace yourselves. Securely. (See you in a few chapters on that one.)

**_Yanagi-sen_** – chapter 39 – Yep, eeks. ;; "Run like fools toward the danger" is their motto.

– chapter 40 – I am so flattered that you're doing fan art for this story! Whoo, I wanna see!

**_May_** – chapter 40 – Sneaky, or trying to brace Nagi for something inevitable? You know, Nagi won't be happy if it does come to pass…

_**Krimson**_ – chapter 40 – I'm so glad you're with us! It's going to be a long ride, and Schu will need all the support he can get for the duration of it. Remember, at the time the story began, he was a callow 22-year-old with very little hope for his own freedom. Now he's once again the caretaker of Nagi, and on top of that he has to come to understand his own heart, not an easy thing under the best of conditions.


	42. 42

**42**

_So long, and thanks for all the fish_

"The boat trip will take about two days," Brad told us as we neared the wharf. "When we arrive in China, remember our cover. We are a reporting team on assignment for a Munich travel magazine." As though making introductions, Brad indicated each of us in turn: "Ritter Stedmann, photography. Miyazawa Michio, elder brother, you will be Herr Stedmann's assistant. Miyazawa Toru, younger brother, you will be working with me, Jack Dawson. As the photojournalist, Schuldig, you get to take lots of pretty pictures. See what there is to see. Nagi and I will handle the information gathering."

At the docks, Nagi, Farfarello and I took all our possessions from the car and piled onto what looked like a cheap tour boat. Brad paused only long enough to toss the car keys to a tattooed man before joining us.

Our leader spoke briefly with the captain, a swarthy Korean man, then addressed Nagi and Farfarello in hushed tones. "You two, lay low until we get there. Schuldig and I are signed on as guards for this little smuggling operation," Brad explained. "We're actually going to be paid for this, in the local currency." At my dumbfounded stare, he merely adjusted his glasses and stated, "Don't worry. I've Seen we will arrive without incident, but they don't know this. Play the part."

Then the little boat put to sea, and I spent the next forty-some-odd hours trying not to get motion sick.

By hour number thirty-seven or so, I was pretty damn tired of it. I stopped counting at forty-two.

Two days. Lately my whole life was being defined in two-day chunks.

If Brad were right, and so far he had been, we'd be in China a little after midnight. Once there, we were to meet with someone who would validate our travel documents for cash, and then we'd slip into the crowds and vanish. I hadn't bothered to ask Brad if he'd ever been to China before; it didn't seem terribly relevant.

I wandered downstairs to check on Nagi and Farf. Claiming a bad case of seasickness, we had pretty much quarantined Farfarello in a cabin; so far, he hadn't tried to leave it. I unlocked his door and let myself in.

Farf looked up from his bunk, where he lay reading a tattered paperback. "Are we there yet?" he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"No, we're not there yet," I grumbled, holding on to the wall as the boat pitched, and my stomach pitched with it. I felt my eyes go wide as I fought to keep my lunch down.

Totally unsympathetic, Far just chuckled. "You're a mess, you know that?"

Again his voice carried that soft Irish lilt, rather than the harsh monotone and flat affect I'd gotten used to over the years. Since the tower I'd noticed that the lilt seemed to accompany a more rational frame of mind, and I greeted it with optimism in spite of my seasickness. "Yeah, well, hopefully this little joy ride will be over soon and we can all stay on solid land from now on."

"Sure," Far agreed, "and maybe monkeys are gonna fly out your butt." His eye twinkled with wicked humor.

"Nice." I decided to change the subject. "So what are you reading?"

"It's sort of a travel guide," Farf replied, still grinning. "It's supposed to be good for people who are in the process of getting lost. And it's got a dose of philosophy, too."

I had the feeling I was being baited to some strange end, but I couldn't resist playing along. "What kind of philosophy?"

"Stuff about life, the universe, basically everything."

"Uh huh. Don't you already know all that shit, Far?"

"Yes, but this book specifically applies to us."

"How so?"

He smiled at me and said, "It tells us not to panic."

I shook my head. Eventually I'd find out what the hell he was talking about, but for now I decided to let it go. "Well, I'm going to check on Nagi," I told him. "Need me to bring you anything?"

"A towel would be nice." Without waiting for reply, he turned his attention back to his book.

Vaguely perplexed, I locked him back in, then went to the kid's room. So far Nagi had chosen to stay in his cabin, staring out the tiny window and hardly moving for hours on end. It bothered me for some reason I couldn't quite name.

At my knock, he didn't invite me in or tell me to go to hell, he merely said, "Hai."

I opened the door. "Chibi? How's it going?"

Nagi sat on the little wooden chair, his elbows propped against the porthole, chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on the waves. "Apparently it's going well," Nagi stated, his voice flat. "If it were not –" he paused, then said, "Mr. Dawson would be in my room, not you." Never once did his gaze leave the water.

"Do you want to come up and see the sunset?" I asked, hoping he'd at least turn to talk to me.

"No, thanks."

Failing to entice him with beauty, I tried for humor. "See any mermaids?"

Nagi sighed. "Schuldig, you are so weird."

"I take that as a 'no'."

Nagi said nothing more. Reluctantly I shut the door again and went in search of Brad. I found him, as usual, leaning against the fore railing and gazing at the sky.

"How are they?" he asked, knowing where I'd been.

"One's reading, the other, obsessing." I leaned against the railing and chanced a look down. White foam danced across the bow, hissed against the hull. I felt dizzy; the rushing water seemed to be inviting me to jump. I gasped slightly and looked up, forcing the thought from my mind. The sea was definitely not our friend.

Damn, I needed a smoke.

"We're almost there," Brad stated, as though this would help the situation. "Do you remember your cover?"

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, still fighting down a lingering nausea. "Photography, nudge nudge, wink wink."

"We can't afford to screw up." Brad looked at me, his eyes red from wind and lack of sleep. "Not now. This may be our last period of calm before things get…interesting."

"Interesting? Define, please."

Brad seemed exasperated as he said, "I've Seen some pretty chaotic shit, and from everything I can decipher, it will happen. The only thing I know for certain is, none of it happens in China."

"Then why don't we just stay there?" I glanced at him in time to get glared at with force. "Okay, that was dumb. Sorry. But I can't help hoping."

"Save your hope for something productive," Brad stated, then turned to watch the clouds again.

Day faded into night, and the stars gleamed silver against the sea. Again I forced myself to look away, and again I pondered Nagi's fascination with it. He used to watch the night sky, knew the stars by name, but at the moment he sat below decks, no doubt staring out the window, his attention held by a void as deep and cold as space.

The boat pulled up to an unmarked dock and we followed the crew ashore. Brad produced four travel visas from his bag and handed these along with our passports to a piggish man who breathed too loudly to be healthy. Money exchanged hands, our travel papers were stamped, and we smuggled ourselves into China without a hitch.

"Gentlemen," Brad addressed us in Japanese, "welcome to Shanghai."

**A/N:**

_So long, and thanks for all the fish_

Schuldig gets mind-Farfed, courtesy of Douglas Adams. And, with that sort of a beginning, I ended up with a number of quirky things in this chapter. Weird how that happens, ne? (Guess my mind needed a break from all the angst.)

**Quirky Things in Chapter 42:**

_jackdaw_ – a crowlike Eurasian bird, similar in name to Crawford's current alias. Henry Ward Beecher once said, "If men had wings and bore black feathers, few of them would be clever enough to be crows." In my world, Brad Crawford would be among the few. (Some there will eventually call him The Chameleon…)

_"It's sort of a travel guide," Farf replied, still grinning._ – none other than "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy".

_"Photography, nudge nudge wink wink."_ – Schu is invoking a classic Monty Python routine here, which has nothing to do with our story and everything to do with Schuldig.


	43. 43

**43**

"_Eddies in the space-time continuum!"_

Over the next few days, we worked our way inland, leaving behind the stink and chaos of the docks in exchange for steadily increasing crowds. Along the way, I figured out how to use the new camera Brad had stashed in my bag while he accumulated newspapers and I accumulated random photographs and mental noise. Several times an hour, I checked to make sure my shields were working properly. So far, they were damn near right again. Maybe that time spent with Yohji had done me more good than I knew.

With a pang I wondered if I would ever see him again. I heaved a sigh and reminded myself that I was with my team, where I belonged.

_(Does anyone truly belong anywhere, Schuldig? Where do you want to be?)_

"You all right?"

I looked up. Brad was frowning at me, clearly waiting for a reply. "Yeah, I'm fine." The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I realized I'd just lied to him. I couldn't be fine if I had no clue where I was, or when: time had just skipped a beat.

"As I was saying," Brad continued, though I had no idea what he'd been talking about, "I want each of you to go through your bags and discard anything you don't absolutely need. Whatever we don't need, we sell." He paused to adjust his glasses, a faint smile touching his lips. "We'll do this over a few days, as we travel. I want a nice, random spread of junk. Nagi, I will need you to do a large part of this, I'm afraid. You can pass for a runaway. I know you find it distasteful, but it is necessary to our escape."

"I will do whatever you need me to do, Crawford," Nagi stated with a hint of wounded pride.

That's right, we were in a small hotel suite somewhere in China. We'd been here a few days at least. Brad had said something about activity in Japan, they were trying to track us down…

I found my attention wandering again. Reflexively I checked my shields; no, I wasn't under attack, and I wasn't exhausted. Maybe it was boredom?

"Schuldig, are you in this discussion or not?" This time, Brad wasn't frowning. He looked genuinely concerned. ::What's wrong?::

::Jet lag?:: Aloud I said, "Sorry, I guess I'm just tired."

"Okay, meeting's over, then." Brad stood and stretched. "Get some sleep," he said, more to me than to the others. "We're going to be busy for the next few days, I want you to be well rested."

"Do you want company?" I asked as Brad headed for the larger of the two bedrooms. I asked, though I knew what he would say. I just couldn't give up.

Brad paused. I could see his jaw tighten. "No, Schuldig."

Farf curled up in the large wicker chair, and Nagi slipped into the smaller bedroom and shut the door, leaving me with the tiny sofa yet again. No wonder I was fried, no one over 5'3" could sleep on the damn thing. Yet Brad had assigned the other bed to Nagi, which I wasn't about to argue with. The kid needed rest if he was going to recover fully and regain use of his powers.

I folded myself onto the loveseat and tried to get comfortable. Every little sound sliced through my head, startling me out of any real sleep. I resigned myself to dozing fitfully, and hoping tomorrow would find my head a little better attached than it had been of late.

A noise like the whine of an injured animal roused me from unexpected slumber; my mind became alert before I even realized I was awake. From Brad's bedroom came another whimper, then mumbled words, growing louder. I crossed the distance to his room without thinking and stood by his bed, uncertain what to do now that I was actually here.

Brad's eyes were tight shut, and his head lolled from side to side on the sweat-soaked pillow. His mouth moved, forming silent words as he gripped the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white and the tendons on his hands stood out in sharp relief.

I strongly considered reaching out to his mind, to try waking him up from the inside. I'd done it before, but it was risky, and I hated going into sleeping minds. Not knowing what he was dreaming about put me at the disadvantage – by the looks of things, Brad would certainly come up fighting, and I'd be too disoriented to be useful.

"Nnno," Brad moaned, the sound drawn out. I wasn't sure if he was actually saying "no" or if that was part of another word. He mumbled some incoherent sounds; I couldn't even tell if they were words and if so what language they were in. Then, a choked-off shout: "No! Please, no! _Nando!_"

I had to do something, but the last time I'd tried I'd gotten punched for my effort. Looking around frantically, I saw a half-full glass of water on the table. I grabbed it and flung its contents at his face.

Brad let out a yell and sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and staring. He held onto the covers and sat, panting, for several seconds before focusing on me and snarling, "Schuldig! What the hell?!"

"You were dreaming," I stated, standing well out of reach, arms folded across my chest. "You were talking in your sleep."

His mouth closed in a thin line and he looked away from me. I could almost hear his mental shields slamming shut. "It's nothing."

"Uh huh." I didn't move.

Brad regained a measure of calm and then asked, "Did I wake you up?"

"No, I couldn't sleep. You gonna tell me about it – this time?"

"Drop it."

Striding back toward the bed, I jabbed an accusing finger at him and growled, "Look, if it's something important, I need to know! Just like you need to know what's going on with –"

"Drop. It."

A mixture of pain and anger colored his shields. Beyond those, I couldn't read anything. "Fine. Good night, then. Sorry to have bothered you."

He lay back down, shifting away from the sweat-damp bedding. "Good night."

Bowing my head in defeat, I retreated to the couch. From the wicker chair, one golden eye gleamed in the faint light. As I sank down onto my makeshift bed, Far whispered, "Eddies in the space-time continuum."

I sighed. "Yes, and this is his sofa. You've said that before, and I still don't know what the hell you're talking about."

The tiny lamp of his eye winked out.

I reclined sideways on the loveseat, my legs stretched out on the cushions, and tried to make sense of what had just happened. I knew Brad could get nasty nightmares from time to time, but this one seemed unusually intense, and it was a repeater. The horrible wailing from that other time blended in with his words this night, making a grotesque Noh drama I couldn't understand. If I could just figure out what he'd been saying… It had sounded vaguely Japanese, so I tried to remember words that sounded like "nando". Something like "what" or "how many," or something like that. I snarled to myself in frustration. Japanese was a perverse language with too many goddamned homonyms for my sanity.

Far's non-sequitur echoed in my head, becoming strangely logical in hindsight. Brad's dreams could be of any time, future or past. Maybe that's what was going on now. But, something in the future? Or, something in the past…

Moved by sudden memory, I vaulted off the lumpy cushions and grabbed my travel bag. I reached inside, groped past my clothes and CDs, and grinned as my fingers touched paper. The battered little tourist dictionary might help, or it might not, but at least it was something. I took the worn paperback over closer to the lamp and flipped through it.

Reaching the appropriate pages, I groaned. Just as I'd thought, there were at least six possible translations for something that sounded like "nando". I frowned then; Brad had pronounced it wrong, with a flat "A" like his own name. He usually wasn't so careless. Still, this was the only thing I could think of at three in the morning, so I clung to it for all it was worth.

If I'd heard him correctly, he could have been saying "how many times" or "how often", but neither of those made sense to me as the keystone of a nightmare. Could be a variation of "what," that might make sense but it told me nothing useful.

A little further down the page, another meaning caught my attention. I had to read it over a few times before it registered. Then I set the book down with a shudder.

"Closet…"

**A/N:**

_"Why," he said, "is there a sofa in that field?" _

_"I told you!" shouted Ford, leaping to his feet. "Eddies in the space-time continuum!" _

_"And this is his sofa, is it?" asked Arthur, struggling to his feet and, he hoped, _

_though not very optimistically, to his senses._

Another Farfism, courtesy of "Life, the Universe, and Everything" by Douglas Adams.

Schu note –

_Japanese was a perverse language with too many goddamned homonyms for my sanity. _– Schu made a little pun, if one really wanted to go there… (I personally don't think homonyms are perverse, but some close-minded heteronyms might feel differently about it.) Also, keep in mind that he's a self-admitted poor student who doesn't bother to actually learn the language so long as he can pluck the meaning out of people's heads. Does anyone know if he's even on the right page in his little tourist book? (Maybe he should try Farf's book instead…)

**Review Mailbag**:

Whooo, road trip! Hey, stop me if you've heard this one: four barely compatible guys are driving across China…

**_May_** – Ch 41 – Baby, when Brad Crawford is calling the shots, every call is a close one. But, when he's not… ;;

Ch 42 – Do keep an eye on Farf; remember, he only has the one and can't spare it for self-observation, so someone needs to.

**_Shadowgirl_** – Ch 42 – Hello! You must be a Yotan fan, ne? So is Schu. I'm so glad you enjoy my portrayals of the guys so far. I'm having a blast writing them. And thank you for sharing your favorite quotes, it means a lot to me that someone finds them so memorable.

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – Ch 42 – Ooh, now to see if I can convince readers that I've been there too… ;;

**_Arileo_** – Ch 42 – Oh, indeed. "42" meets "How NOT To Be Seen", coming soon.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Ch 42 – Yes they do, and so can I (and, I don't either). As for the craziness of their lives, just imagine what sort of things Farf and Schu might have picked up on late nite satellite back in the Takatori days (you know, easy living and fast cars?). I think you'll keep smiling as Farf's cultural repetoire unfolds before your eyes. As for your humble author being a tease…you betcha! I channel Schuldig, remember? –

**_Yanagi-sen_** – Ch 42 – Oh, he most certainly does! Like I said to Mistress of Anime, I tend to channel Schu with startling regularity. But he makes more typoes than I do. What's up with Nagi, you ask? Read on, Farfarello has his own theories on that one. ;;

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – Ch 42 – Thank you, thank you. (bows) And yes, Brad has more stuff cooking than a short-order chef at Waffle House.


	44. 44

**44**

…_silence that speaks so much louder than words_

Brad was infuriatingly casual the next morning, as though daring me to bring it up. Nagi and Farf watched us with mild disinterest. No doubt they each had their own theory to explain the mayhem of the previous night. In any case, I knew Nagi hated to see Brad as weak, so he would probably try to convince himself he hadn't heard anything at all.

"I want you two to pick up some more film and sell a few things off today," Crawford instructed our younger teammates. He gestured toward a small pile of tapes and unwanted clothing. "Just take a couple of items, see what you can get. Try to find buyers who are passing through. Remember, the idea isn't to get a lot of cash, but to send those items on a nice long journey. There are object readers out there looking for us, I want them to look far and wide."

I watched as Nagi gave Farf an uncertain glance, then a nod. The kid wasn't comfortable around Farfarello lately. It bothered me to send them off alone, but they used to work well together, and we needed to get that ease back. We had to reforge the team, make Schwarz stronger than ever, to withstand what Brad assured us was just around the corner.

The whole situation made me very uneasy. We were relying on Brad's visions with very little outside information, and with too much at stake. Crawford had been under a great amount of stress since the tower, and stress could affect not only his sanity but his gift as well. If he were in the process of a breakdown, it would jeopardize all our lives. And if his nightmares were a symptom of trouble, we had to address them before it got any worse.

I picked at my breakfast, not watching as Nagi and Farf headed out on their errand. I sent a mental "good luck" to them, made sure I could hear them if they called out.

As Crawford shut the door behind them, I got up and paced over to my bag. I'd set the dictionary back inside, on top of my clothes; with the little book secure in my hand, I turned and confronted Brad. "I know what you were dreaming about last night."

His back stiffened, but he didn't turn around, merely addressed his reply to the door. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Catch." I threw the book at him, literally.

Brad whirled and plucked the little paperback out of the air without even looking at it. Glancing down, he frowned and said, "What the hell is this?"

"Nando," I said, giving the word a proper Japanese pronunciation. "Several variations of what or quantity." I paused a moment, for effect. "Also means a small back room, or a closet."

He bowed his head, eyes closed. "I see." He seemed relieved, probably because I didn't do this in front of the others.

"Brad, your team knows. There's no reason to be embarrassed." I walked over to him as I spoke, whether to offer comfort or to retrieve my dictionary I wasn't quite certain. "But this could be a major problem. We're on the run, you don't have the luxury of a phobia."

"I know, Schu." He handed me the book, then looked into my eyes, his own eyes quite calm. "Just like Nagi cannot afford to be afraid of Farfarello, none of us can keep such weaknesses and be safe."

"I can help you with it," I offered, trying not to think of those times before, with Takatori. Esset had sold him Brad's fear, which he had used when beating the rest of the team with golf clubs wasn't punishment enough. "I'll keep you grounded."

Brad nodded, then embraced me gently.

I gasped, startled. This was the first touch since Yohji.

"Schu, I'll make you a deal," Brad whispered. "I'll work on the claustrophobia, if you'll quit smoking."

I pulled back a little, to look into his face. He wasn't smiling. "Brad?"

"I'm totally serious. I want you to quit. Or at least cut way down. Do we have an agreement?"

A faint chill touched my spine, leaving behind a question I somehow didn't want to ask. Still, I couldn't just let it fester; I let the words spill out, then closed my eyes against his answer. "Brad, have you Seen something happening to me?"

Warm lips pressed against mine, stealing my breath away. Brad held me fiercely, protectively, and kissed me as though I were slipping through his fingers. His thoughts projected strongly into my mind. ::The future changes, nothing is certain.:: He repeated this like a prayer.

When he broke from the kiss, I leaned my head against his shoulder and whispered, "I'll try. I'll really try."

"That's all any of us can ever do."

We stood there for several moments, him strong and solid, and me resting in the comfort of him.

His lips tickled my ear as he asked, "Is that all you heard, then? Nothing too embarrassing, just that?"

"Why? Was there more?" I asked, curious what I might have missed.

"No. There's no more."

It occurred to me that we had never really had the chance to discuss the things we'd been through before the tower, and those were the things most likely to come back to haunt us. "Brad, maybe we should all sit down and talk, figure out our weak points and how to fix them." My voice dropped as I confessed, "You already know mine."

Brad stroked my hair and murmured, "It's all right, Schu. I understand you. And frankly, sometimes I find that your weaknesses are really your greatest strengths."

I looked into his eyes. "Brad, I didn't mean to hurt you, you know that, right? I just…"

He was still playing with my hair, and gave it a gentle tug. "Shh. I know you, Schuldig. I know what you need, and I couldn't give it to you. I don't know if I ever can. But I won't have you miserable, when so much is riding on your being with the team. Nagi needs you, he will always need you, and you know that sometimes you are the only one who can communicate with Farfarello. We have to be a team, Schuldig. We cannot fall apart."

"So you're telling me you need me, but we still don't have the luxury of a relationship," I mumbled, a little disgruntled. I didn't appreciate him patronizing me when all I wanted was his love. Well, maybe that wasn't all I wanted, but right now he was here and Yohji was far away, and tomorrow may never come.

Brad tilted my chin up and gazed into my eyes. His own were unreadable. "Are you willing to settle for stolen moments, Schu? Can that possibly be enough?"

I met his gaze unflinching. "If it's all we get, I'll take it. I've lost enough of myself over the years, I want to enjoy what I have left."

He kissed me again, more softly this time, and I fell into him. His shields enfolded me, welcomed me into the sanctuary of his mind while showing me nothing of the man within. ::I wish I could give you more,:: Brad sighed, ::and I wish I could explain. I'm sorry, you deserve better than this.::

::No, I don't.:: Years of shame and disgrace welled up in my mind, flooded over me, left me shaking in his embrace. ::I don't.::

::The first step in being free,:: Brad stated emphatically, ::is to not believe the lies they fed to you. If you have any doubt as to the worth of your heart, look to Nagi. You'll see your best self in his eyes.::

I clung to him, barely able to register what he'd just said. ::So you're not mad about --::

Brad bristled a little. ::Hush. I don't want to think about it, if you don't mind. I've told you more than once already, Schu, I'm ready to tolerate it for your sake. I'm still not happy about it. I finally let you get to me, and I have to share? No, not happy, but…I'll take what I can get, too.:: As his thought-speech washed through me, his lips brushed against mine, his tongue teasing.

::Then take it,:: I offered, tilting my head back to let him kiss my neck.

::They will be back any minute,:: Brad told me, though he didn't stop.

::Then let's not block the door.::

**A/N:**

_…silence that speaks so much louder than words_

"Sorrow", from Pink Floyd's _A Momentary Lapse of Reason_. With Crawford, sometimes what he does not say is more crucial than what he does say. Unfortunately, Schuldig usually listens for the words, and misses the silences.

**Review Mailbag:**

Star Princess Meesa – LOL! Good thing they didn't stay long, then! But…Hong Kong is on the venue, and Crawford is keen on leading the Esset hunters on a merry chase, so we may not have seen the last of Shanghai, either. Of course, this is all presuming anyone is still hunting Schwarz, and Brad isn't just jealous of Farf's straitjacket…

NightMaiden – Hello back! I'm so glad you're hopelessly hooked. That's my cue that I'm doing something right. The Weiss version is up and running, the title is "The Rain Doesn't Grieve". Away messages, eh? Cool!

Tysoyo Kalli – Oh, believe me, Schu's annoyed as hell! He just doesn't want to get shot. And, I have to say, you're extremely perceptive. Are you sure Omi and/or Nagi didn't hack into my computer and sell you my notes? (Heh heh heh – though I won't tell you which part you may have figured out, I'll just let you worry until we get there.)

Kari-chan – There will be loads of Brad/Schu angst, as both men have to deal with their pasts in order to keep the team safe. Growth is usually painful, ne? As for open arguments, it depends on one's definition of "open". Brad tends to keep things quiet until he's ready to shoot someone. And, don't fret, I have LOTS planned for Farfarello. (Wait – DO fret! That can be scary stuff!)

Shadowgirl – I'm glad your friend got you hooked on my story! Oh, and Schu ain't so misguided; he's just…(breaking into song) torn between two lovers, feelin' like a fool… (Schu slaps writer silly, borrows DeathGlare® from Aya & threatens to use it if writer doesn't stop singing IMMEDIATELY).

Ahem. (still silly from being slapped) Where was I? Oh, yes. Lovely to have you aboard the Heart of Gold! I trust you brought your towel?

May – Yep, I think he deserved the water in the face, too. There will be light moments aplenty, just like in "real life" – silly mixed with angst mixed with sheer mayhem, with the occasional rest stop in the middle.

Lestat – Do you really think Schu could stay away? I mean…it's Yohji, man! Yeow!


	45. 45

**45**

_Mother of motion, the eyes can't capture time…_

When I noticed I was losing track of time again, I had a much better explanation for it than before: every place looked the same. The people looked the same, the air smelled the same; if it weren't for occasional stops for petrol I would think the car was standing still. I glanced at my watch. Ten days. Ten frigging days of being locked in a car with my teammates, driving through some of the least interesting parts of China that were accessible by road.

And not a single cigarette.

I heaved a sigh and glared out my window. My reflection glared back from the rear-view mirror. Defiant copper roots blazed through a field of brown. I snarled and looked away. Damn this! "Brad, where the fuck are we going? Because, when we get there, I am stripping this color shit out of my hair for good!"

My outburst met with silence: Farfarello calmly continued reading some weird little book, Nagi listened to antiquated chamber music over high-tech headphones, and Brad Crawford ignored me without so much as a sidelong glance.

"Ah, fuck." My mood had been fine, until Crawford had half a dozen visions that ended up with us crammed into a series of stolen cars and driving at random through the middle of China for a week and a half. I sure the hell hoped this wouldn't turn into a long-term thing.

As the sun settled into a hazy, smoggy blur on the horizon, Brad pulled the car into the parking lot at a small travel lodge. "Schuldig," he stated, still not looking at me, "touch up your hair color. But keep it brown."

"Ah, hell!"

"Crawford," Nagi asked, "what are we doing here?"

"We're staying the night, and tomorrow we're joining with a tourist group. We'll follow along for a while, then I'll find us new transportation heading south." Brad adjusted his glasses and exited the car, ending the conversation with the slam of his door.

Belatedly I hoped I hadn't ticked him off. I didn't look forward to sleeping alone yet again; the past week and a half had been bad enough, after his momentary warmth back in Shanghai. As we drove I'd started obsessing about spending time alone with Brad, and found I rather liked obsessing a little more than complaining. Oh, the things one discovers on a road trip! "Hey, Brad?"

"No, Schuldig." He turned to look at me, then added, "We'll need our rest."

"But, Brad…"

"Schuldig. No."

Crawford made the arrangements while we waited by the car. At his gesture, we followed him to a small private cabin behind the actual lodge. Not too bad, from the outside, but I refused to get my hopes up.

As it turned out, the cabin had its own kitchen, and a small stocked fridge. The whole thing was designed with Western comfort in mind; leave it to Crawford to know where to look for lodging. Just for grins I decided to ask him how much this was going to cost.

He smiled, pushed his glasses back up, and said, "After you handle our checkout, it should be practically free."

The four of us managed dinner without too much trouble, then fatigue set in. Too many hours in a car and unpleasant rest stops had left us all on the verge of exhaustion, and we weren't even out of Asia. In my mind, this did not bode well.

Before I could mention it to Brad, he waved me to silence. "Don't go there, Schu. I have my reasons."

I resigned myself to spending the night in a room with Farfarello, while Nagi passed out on the edge of Crawford's bed. Too bad we couldn't stash the two of them together, but I knew that would never fly. I settled for a warm goodnight kiss from Brad, and managed to prolong it into a fairly intimate clench before he pulled away and retired to his room.

In the second bedroom, Farfarello had already claimed the right side of the bed. He sat there fully dressed, leaning against the headboard and reading.

Jaw clenched in aggravated frustration, I reached for my bag and rummaged for a smoke.

Without taking his eye from the page, Far said, "You do know this is a no-smoking cabin."

"Fuck off." I found my cigarettes and lighter, then took them into the main room of the cabin. Hands shaking, I lit up and inhaled deeply. My eyes closed in momentary ecstasy as the smoke cleared away the lingering fog. Only then did I realize how long it had been since my last cigarette. Damn, no wonder I'd been such a bitch lately! I hadn't smoked since Shanghai, not since…

Not since I promised Brad I'd quit.

Quit…or cut down, and I'd certainly managed to cut down! I counted that as a victory and savored my prize. Brad probably knew I'd be doing this, and that was why he'd arranged the rooms as he had. Smart man, knowing that sometimes nicotine is better than sex, though how a non-smoker could understand was beyond me. Then again, he was pretty damn observant, especially where his team was concerned.

I lingered by the window, smoking and watching clouds drift across the evening sky. I found my thoughts drifting with them, and wondered what Kudou was doing this night. My lips curved into a smile around the filter. Knowing him, whatever he was up to probably involved smoking.

When that cigarette was done, I flushed the remains down the toilet rather than just flick it out the door. Brad had told me not to leave spent butts lying about, and I felt pretty smart for remembering that in spite of not smoking in over a week. Briefly I debated having another, but decided to stop for the night. I felt I'd done amazingly well, one smoke in ten days, and was not in the mood to backslide any further.

I stretched and paced around the little cabin. Though I was tired, I wasn't ready to sleep just yet. I went back to the bedroom and dug through my bag. Nothing there caught my attention. I glanced over at Farfarello, still sitting on the bed, humor in the set of his eyebrows as he read his paperback.

"Hey, Far," I asked, reaching for his bag, "do you mind if I go through your books?"

Again he didn't bother to look up as he said, "Help yourself. The ones down the side I'm gonna be selling, grab 'em if you want 'em."

I pulled out a handful of paperbacks that looked like they had already traveled the world in someone's back pocket. The covers were battered and the pages dogeared and stained; some smelled vaguely like an old library. One caught my eye, and I looked it over more closely. It was the book he'd been reading on the boat, the one that had kicked off his weird preoccupation with towels and sofas. I flipped it open – the overworn spine choosing the page for me – and read a line at random.

The original text was "Don't panic!", though I was hard put to decipher it as the "Don't" had been painted over with blood. I glanced at Far, then gingerly closed the book and stuffed it back into his bag.

Far just kept on reading.

I decided to listen to some music instead of risking another book. I upended my bag over the bed and sifted through the stuff I still called mine, frowning at the dwindling pile. So far, I'd gotten rid of a fair number of tapes and discs in our quest to baffle the object readers on our trail. I now had even less clothing than I'd had at Rosenkreuz, though I hadn't really owned any of that. And I had one box of hair color, brown, now lying quietly in the middle of the bed.

"Ah, shit!" I grabbed the damn thing and headed back to the bathroom.

When I came back with damp, Nutella-colored hair, Farfarello was asleep, the lights still on and his book grasped limply in his hand. I shook my head; that man could sleep in any position, on any surface…or suspended from it.

As quietly as I could, I stuffed my meager belongings back into the bag and set it by the bed. I stripped and set my clothes over the chair to air out a bit; we'd need to find a way to do some laundry soon, or burn the whole lot and start over. Then I turned off the lights and stretched out next to Farf, and tried not to think about where I'd rather be spending the night.

Sunrise found me pleasantly alert, and Farfarello still sleeping like a puppy. Like a fully dressed, man-sized hyena puppy, perhaps, but a puppy nonetheless.

I selected a change of clothes that seemed less fragrant than the rest and carried them to the bathroom, intent on a shower. Brad was already there, clad in undershorts and poised before the mirror, razor in hand.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, lathering his chin with hand soap.

I admired the dark scruff on his jaw a moment longer, then said, "Farf's marking in his books again. How do you think I slept?"

He regarded me through the mirror and said, "Considering how interesting you find him when he does things like that, I suspect you slept quite well. Besides, I smelled your cigarette. Better?"

"Much." I started to run the shower. "So what's on the agenda today? Besides tourist stuff."

"That's pretty much it. We have to start moving southward, but the tourist group will put us where we need to be by around three this afternoon. Of course, we'll need another car, but that shouldn't be any problem." He finished shaving and studied his handiwork.

"How's the mice?"

Brad gave me a puzzled look, then comprehension kicked in. "Oh. That. I'm still figuring out how to work around it. Mind if I join you in the shower?"

Any joy I felt at his request quickly faded as I touched his mind and discovered he intended only to wash, nothing more. We took turns with the spray and the soap, then I lingered under the hot water, face upturned, for the sheer luxury of it.

Strong hands gripped my hips as Brad pressed against me from behind.

I gasped, momentarily startled. "I thought you didn't want this!"

"I changed my mind," Brad murmured against the back of my neck.

Had I really thought that nicotine could ever be better than sex? The absurdity of it made me smile as I leaned forward, the water cascading over my ass. I reached behind me and pulled him closer.

No time for delicacy today, Brad slid into me with undisguised need. I bit my lip and pushed back onto him, careful not to lose my footing on the slick tile. We fucked quickly, quietly, and efficiently, two men desperate for contact. Brad came with a low groan; I followed soon after. The water hadn't even turned cold yet.

I dressed and made certain we had left nothing of ours in the bathroom before returning to my bedroom and collecting my bag. We had a light breakfast, none of us terribly hungry as a peculiar sort of energy seemed to infuse the team. Crawford was leading us on a madcap quest, and we were eager to follow where his visions might take us.

Today they would take us west. We left our car keys in the cabin, and I left the proprietor with a vague memory of a quarreling married couple. At the appointed hour, the four of us boarded the foreseen tour bus, joining twenty-some-odd other passengers on their journey. No one seemed to notice us at all.

I smiled at Crawford. ::I love it when it's working right.::

He gave me a small smile in return, then turned to gaze once more out his window.

I could feel his tension, and knew the source of it. The bus was too cramped, and he wasn't in control of the situation. Though it wasn't literally a small enclosed space, to him it had to be nearly as bad. ::You only have to put up with the bus for a little while longer,:: I told him. ::Remember, you said we'd find a car and ditch this lame party by three o'clock. Hey, do you want to trade seats? I don't mind sitting by the window.::

::Thanks, Schu. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine, really. Besides, this is the pop-out emergency window. Better than getting caught in the crowd, should it come to that.::

I tried to reconstruct a mental map of our recent wanderings, and failed. All I knew was we'd gone west, north, southeast, and now we were headed west again. Well, vaguely southwest, actually, but that didn't help me one bit.

::Stop thinking about it,:: Brad stated emphatically. ::The whole point was to become a little lost, give them no hint where my final destination might actually be.::

::Do you actually have a final destination?:: I retorted, a little surprised that he'd told me as much as he had just now.

Brad smiled, pushed his glasses up, and said, ::Not at all.::

We arrived, we disembarked. I yawned as we faced yet another little town, with another dozen little shrines. At least it was time to leave our new friends. We sheared away from the group and blended in with another batch of tourists for a while, then lost ourselves in the crowd. No one would even remember we had been there, though it cost me a mild headache to ensure this.

"It doesn't seem to matter whether we leave tonight or tomorrow," Brad informed me. "I am getting some peculiar glimpses, though. Let's play cool on this one. Schuldig, take point."

I led the way in search of lodging or a vehicle, whichever I happened to find first. That would decide our course of action for the night. Though I hated to admit it even to myself, I was longing for the road, in anything other than a bus. Well, maybe not just anything; it had to be large enough that we wouldn't kill each other in the first week. None of those smaller types for me, thanks, especially not after the smelly little sub-compact two joyrides back.

We passed a small open-air market and a number of alleyways leading to god-knows-where, and I had the strong urge to physically hold onto Nagi when we passed a group of sly-looking men. I refrained from scanning about, though my shields didn't resonate with any hint of trouble. I'd learned my lesson in Japan – if you seek, you'll find, and I wasn't in the mood for that kind of action. No, this was a pretty quiet little town, the sort of place tourists come to see "old China" and get smiled at by toothless old women. I browsed about, playing the part of generic westerner, the rest of the team trailing not too far behind me.

A mental gasp brought me to a halt.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brad stumble. He staggered, then lurched toward a street lamp, grabbing hold and clinging to it as he slid to the ground.

As I moved toward Brad, I scanned the crowd, my hand going to my gun.

The three of us reached him at the same time.

Brad groped for Farfarello's arm, hauled himself up and allowed the Irishman to prop him against the lamppost. Nagi gave me a worried look, then glanced around. A few passersby had stopped, no doubt wondering if the tourist were ill.

Brad's mental voice sounded clear in my head. ::Schuldig. No one saw this. Make certain of it.::

I gritted my teeth and sent out a wide "do not notice" signal, covering the town with a momentary disregard. My head pounded. I decided to resort to speech, to try to ward off the coming headache a little longer. "What's wrong?" I hissed.

::I can't see.:: Brad turned his face toward me and groped for my sleeve. Behind his glasses, his eyes shone wide and blank.

**A/N:**

_Mother of motion, the eyes can't capture time…_

"Cruelty", CXS _Mystery_. In many ways, "cruelty and consequence" could be a description of Mastermind and Oracle…though their lives are currently moving in a direction even Crawford cannot anticipate. (Perhaps the ongoing Farfisms have something to do with this…or probably not.)

Schu notes –

_Nutella_ – a tasty chocolate-hazelnut spread with very little nutritional value, quite popular in Germany. (It's kind of like putting cake frosting on your toast.) It's especially good on dark or swirled rye.

_"do not notice" signal_ – Schu's version of an SEP field. (Someone Else's Problem field, basically a suggestion that keeps people from bothering to notice something that you don't want them to bother noticing.)

Side note –

Stichomancy is the art of divination that involves picking up a book and opening it to a random passage for insight or the answer to a specific question. _(Schu does not happen to know this, however. If he did, he'd probably run screaming.)_

**Review Mailbag:**

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – Ooh, some interesting stuff, there. Come, come to my livejournal, where we can discuss your Omi murder issues at length. There just ain't enough room here! By the way, how's your seventh sense on this chapter?

_**Mistress Of Anime**_ – Maybe a little fluff, you know all that hair Schu has is bound to get static and attract fluff from time to time. And I'm glad you like the Weiss counterpart story. Remember, it's only 7 weeks from the fall of the tower to Yohji meeting someone at a bar…

**_NightMaiden02_** – Thank you, those two needed a good fan-girl glomping right about then. Especially considering what happened in the next chapter.

_**Yanagi-sen**_ – "That which does not kill us, makes us stronger." (Nietzsche) Perhaps this is the guiding force of Schuldig's life, ne? His time with Takatori made him a little spoiled, a bit of a princess. Now he has to toughen back up and reach whatever his true potential might be. And he's running out of time…

_**May**_ – Remember, Brad's visions are more vague the further away they are from happening, and prone to change. Nothing is set in stone. Well, actually it is – I've got this baby plotted out all the way to the very end – but Brad doesn't know this.

For your review of "To Those About to Die" Ch. 16, thank you. You're right, they're not "good guys" even though they stand against the same "bad guys" as our heroes. Confusing, but very "real." That's probably why they keep turning up in my blogs.

**_Lestat_** – Thank you. What do you think of the ending to THIS chapter?

_**Silverfrost**_ – It's nice to see a stalwart Brad x Schu fan. Mr. Crawford needs all the support he can get lately.

_**Shadowgirl1**_ – Do you have any idea how cool I think it is that you pick out favorite quotes from my stories?

As for Schu's vulnerable side, I hear his right shoulder still isn't quite up to par… (Do you think he'll buy that? I'm trying to cover for you, here!)

And about that pirate fetish…apparently Omi is a big fan of Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean" (imagine the cosplay!).

_**Star Princess Meesa**_ – You ever go to a carnival where they have those rides, and when you think the ride is over the guy asks "Do you want more?!?" How much Farfie do you want? Heh heh heh… (Stay tuned!)

**_schuldigguilt_** – Schuschu is wondering too. It's nice to see another vote for Brad, and you're right – it just doesn't seem fair that Schu has to decide between him and sigh Yotan, does it?


	46. 46

**46**

_falling emotion, the blind now lead the blind…_

:Get me out of here. Get me off this street.:

I stared around us, trying to figure out what to do. Nagi watched me, his eyes wide with fear. Far stood calmly behind Crawford, supporting our sightless leader and showing no emotion at all.

"Come on." I put Brad's hand on my shoulder and started walking slowly the way we had been going. Grimacing against the mental strain, I sent:Just walk normally, I won't let you trip over anything.:

Brad's mind whirled, his shields barely keeping me on the outer edges of his thoughts. :Find a place we can all sit down and talk for a minute.:

I led the team down a narrow side street, toward a tree-shaded bench. Reaching it, I guided Brad to sit. :What the fuck happened: I sent, more sharply than I'd intended. At Brad's slight wince, I added:Sorry about that. But you scared the hell out of us back there:

:It scared the hell out of me too. I wish I knew what happened. All I know is, I can't see. Nothing.: He rubbed lightly at his eyes, then shook his head. :It's all gone.:

"What happened?" Nagi asked, his voice strained. "You're not including me, so talk out loud."

I started to leaned down toward the kid when Brad's hand reached up and gripped my wrist. I frowned. :Brad:

:Say nothing aloud. Either keep it private, or we talk later. How secure is our position:

:Secure enough: I told him, pausing to look around. :But if we just sit here in silence, that would look weird too.:

:Code three. Under no circumstances mention the blindness.: Brad reached up and removed his glasses, then wiped them casually with his shirt cuff as though nothing had happened. Aloud, he said, "Looks like we missed the bus."

I took a deep breath and wished it had been full of nicotine. Code three meant that Schwarz was on full alert; we had to presume we were being watched. By the quick look Nagi shot toward the street, I knew he'd gotten the message as well; Far just stood as placid as a graveyard statue. I shrugged and put on the attitude of an annoyed westerner stranded in a backwoods town, which I basically was. "I haven't seen any rentals," I drawled. "We may be stuck for the night."

Farfarello's mind-speech whispered faintly through our team link, still nowhere near as strong as it should have been, but present nonetheless. :They usually go blind. Blind, or mad. But I thought it would be more gradual than this.:

Anger and denial flared through me. :Far, this is not the time for your goddamned observations:

:Shut up, Schuldig, at least he's answering my question: Nagi sent forcefully. Clearly not waiting for a reply, Nagi asked:Crawford, are you in pain:

"If we have to, I'm sure we can find a decent enough hotel and leave with the next tour group in the morning." Brad switched from spoken words to mindspeech without a pause, carrying on two very different conversations with practiced ease. :No, no pain. Just darkness, Nagi. Now, Farfarello, please remain focused. I need you to be our lookout while we sort through this. And Nagi, don't antagonize Schuldig. He has much work to do.: Brad frowned. He tilted his head, then addressed me directly. "Stedmann, stop that damn pacing."

I blinked, barely remembering my cover. :You heard that:

:Of course I heard that. It's one of your more annoying habits.: Reflexively Brad pushed his glasses up, then scowled. "It's not my fault we missed the bus. If you're in such a hurry to leave, maybe you should look harder for a rental car." :I want us out of here as soon as possible. We can find a secluded spot to rest, but I want us to be a moving target until we get this figured out.:

"Wait a minute, I thought we were staying here tonight! You still want me to look for a car? As in, you expect me to drive?" I had to force my voice back down; tension and fear had made me momentarily loud. "We don't even have a map!"

"We were going west," Farfarello stated, "why do you need a map?"

I growled at my own frustration, at the situation, at Far's increasingly monotone speech.

Before I could reply, either aloud or mentally, Nagi intervened. "Dawson-san, how far to our next stop? And will we be spending some time there, or just taking pictures and leaving again?" The boy ducked his head in polite apology and added, "Gomen, but I would like to do some sightseeing myself, if we have the time." On the mental level, he asked:Schuldig didn't tell me – were you attacked, Crawford? Is there someone here:

Brad smiled a little. "We should be able to drive it ourselves in about ten hours or so. There's a city with a good tourist reputation where Herr Stedmann can get some much needed 'me time', and you can do your sightseeing then." :No, not an attack. But I'm not going to sit here and wait for one. They might not know what has happened to me, and I cannot afford for them to learn of it. Until we can reverse this, we have to act like nothing is wrong. The problem is, I don't know how long this will last, or what might have caused it. I need to get you to a place where you can access the internet. You're the medic, you'll need to figure it out.:

Nagi heaved a sigh and leaned back. He swallowed any misgivings and replied:I will do my best. As always.: Aloud he simply said, "Hai."

Brad stood carefully, bracing against Farfarello and favoring his ankle as though that were the source of his discomfort. He stepped down, seemingly testing his footing, then nodded at Far. "I think it's all right," he stated out loud, "it's not sprained."

I tried to relax, but the headache had a firm hold on me now, and I saw its echo in Nagi's face. This little crisis was pushing us both to our current limits. :Okay, Brad, so what the fuck do you want me to do:

Brad turned slightly toward the sound of my voice and scowled at me. "Stedmann, just find us a goddamn car." He allowed Far to lead him discretely, and if I hadn't known he was blind I would never have guessed it. Brad had an uncanny knack for acting normal. "We'll be waiting at that little restaurant we passed a few streets back." :This is for real, Schuldig. Don't be seen, and make sure the car isn't missed too quickly.:

I watched them walk away, Brad with a very convincing limp, then turned my attention to finding a car. If I could get one legitimately, that would be nice, but this town seemed too small to have a rental agency.

As I searched, my thoughts kept circling through the past hour. This was crazy, Brad going blind like that. Total bullshit. It was hard to believe that it hadn't been an attack. It sure the hell would have been an effective one. Take out the leader, and a team typically falls apart. Schwarz had more trust than was normal, but still, how long could we function if Brad was incapacitated? I wasn't trained to lead, and I realized I resented having that role thrust upon me like this. I'd resented being Nagi's caretaker at first, too. And Far – I'd hated the idea of being the team animal handler.

Ah, shit. I was learning far too much about myself lately; that wouldn't make for easy sleeping.

Then I saw it.

The Landrover.

It was parked outside a fairly rustic house. From inside that house came sounds of revelry – a party? I let my mind float a little, pushing myself past the remnants of my earlier headache, and eavesdropped.

So…that's what opium feels like. Damn.

I shook my head, flinging off the mild lethargy and setting my sights on the vehicle. It was certainly big enough, and road-worthy no matter if there were, in fact, roads. It would do, at least for a few days.

With a quick scan I verified that I had no witnesses. Closing my eyes, I sent a more powerful mental surge through the house, trying to identify the owner of the Landrover. Great – this was his house, too. Damn. I couldn't convince him he'd left his wheels and walked here, then. But… I checked my pockets for cash. We each carried a decent amount, just in case we needed bribe money; it was one of our failsafes, and right now I was glad I hadn't spent mine in the market.

There was a little crack near the front door of the house. I wadded up most of my money and stuffed it in. Then I looked around again, to make sure no one noticed me standing there acting suspicious as all hell. I focused on the owner's mind, showed him the wad of money and a westerner's handshake, and the vehicle changing hands. I reminded him he had a spare set of keys, but that was all right; I didn't need them. That way, he'd never wonder why he'd sold his Landrover without handing over the keys.

The headache surged as I broke contact, though it was not as bad as I'd anticipated. Maybe whatever had been broken was really fixing itself. With any luck, Nagi's gift would be the same way, then. Staggering a little, I approached the vehicle, only belatedly hoping the damn thing had fuel in it. I reached under the steering column, felt for the gap, then pulled the appropriate wires. Moments later the engine roared to life, and I sent a brief mental "thank you" to the good fellow who'd just unwittingly sold me his only means of transportation. Oh, well, he was too much of a drunkard to be driving anyway.

Luck stayed with me for the moment, as the Landrover had plenty of fuel and seemed to be in pretty good shape. It reminded me a little of the Jeep we'd had, so long ago, in what I'd started to think of as "the Takatori Era". Cautiously I made my way toward the restaurant, keeping up a mild mental suggestion around me that there was nothing interesting to look at.

When I arrived, my teammates came out, laden with packages of food. They piled these into the back seat, then Farf and Nagi climbed in on either side of our mobile feast.

As though he could see the Landrover, Brad opened the passenger door and got in. :There's a wilderness area just a few hours out.: "Let's take the scenic route, gentlemen. It's a beautiful day for a picnic."

**A/N:**

_falling emotion, the blind now lead the blind…_

Continued from previous chapter. Now Schuldig must take on the role of team leader, something he has feared and dreaded for some time. Their lives are in his hands, and his hands are shaking…

Journey west, anyone?

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Whoo, thanks for the glomp! I needed that, between this story and "Rain" and all, it's getting tense! But not nearly as tense as it would get if Farf was doing stichomancy with a bible! Meep! Major sweat-drop, there.

_**Tysoyo Kalli**_ – You know, Schu had that same exact reaction…

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – Why, thank you. I live to be evil. I haven't heard it yet, I'll check it out. I've watched some of the lunacy on the Gluhen DVD bonus stuff. Little plastic hammers…?

**_Lestat_** – Farfarello is wondering the same thing. I guess it'll come down to whether or not Brad can relax enough to let it happen, ne? Hmm, that sounded kind of hentai…

**_may_** – Yep. (Flashing my best Evil Writer Grin.)

_**Narijima**_ – And I'm certainly glad you found it too! I'm replying to your chapter 19 review, and I hope you've made it this far to get your reply. I must admit, I pride myself on the spelling and grammar – in my day job, I'm a proof reader. (Now watch me scrwe somthing up…)

The music inspires me, and I pay it back by making it feel included. On my website, I've got an actual soundtrack for this story. It's set up as if I were scoring a film, and I had lots of fun picking the music for that, too. Come by and see!

**_Yanagi-sen_** – One thing you know for sure, Brad needs all the hugs he can get right now!

_**Shadowgirl**_ – Did I mention that I, myself, do not smoke?

And, speaking of film scores (yes, I took a class in movie music back in college) – did you know the original version of the 'Psycho' shower scene did not have the music? Hitchcock didn't want any sound at all, but the wise man doing the soundtrack put in the strings and bam! Instant classic.

Ooh, autograph of a cosplay Captain Jack Sparrow! That be cool!


	47. 47

**47**

_Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking…  
(quit drinking…stop using amphetamines…stop sniffing glue…)_

By sunset, the mood in the Landrover was as dark as our team name. I could taste the fear rolling off Nagi as he stared at the back of Brad's head. Brad himself had his shields locked down so tight I could barely sense he was in the vehicle at all. And Farfarello…the stress of the situation was pushing him toward a psychotic episode. I could hear the tell-tale traces of dissolution in his thoughts as his own personal logic began to usurp his mind.

I wanted a cigarette.

Hell, I wanted a goddamn drink!

The effort involved in traveling unnoticed through the Chinese countryside had my head pounding and my nerves frayed to the panic point. The team had never maintained a code three alert for this long before; the strain was immense.

As I maneuvered the Landrover into a stand of trees and hopefully out of sight, I realized that my arms were shaking. Fatigue and adrenalin, two of my closest acquaintances, were fighting for dominance, and my will was hard pressed to keep them both at bay. I fumbled at the wires, taking a mild jolt as I pulled them apart. "Scheiße!"

The Landrover's engine coughed, then fell silent.

We sat there a few moments, listening to the complete lack of sound as though none of us had ever heard such a thing before.

"We need to eat," Brad stated. "Is this spot acceptable, everyone?" :Schuldig, report.:

:No witnesses. Possible tire tracks through grass but that can't be helped: I replied. :The vehicle itself was purchased fairly, if not legally. No one will look for it for a while, anyway.:

Brad opened his door and slowly stepped down. He swayed a little, never releasing his hold on the door. :Nagi, if you would.:

Nagi hurried to his side, then guided him toward a place we could all sit and eat. Farfarello followed, carrying the bags of food.

I grabbed my travel bag and dug out a pack of cigarettes, my lighter, and a bottle of headache pills. Then I checked that my gun was ready for action, should we be interrupted. Only then did I join my teammates at our impromptu moonlit picnic.

They'd bought food that would last without refrigeration, and enough to get us through two meals. More, if we had to ration it, but at the moment none of us wanted to think about that. We ate in silence. Nagi ate more than I'd expected him to, and this bolstered my hope that his power, too, was mending itself. I offered him a little smile when he looked up.

As usual, he ignored me.

After dinner, I handed Nagi a couple of headache tablets and took two myself. Knowing those wouldn't be enough for my strained brain, I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one. :Is the code three off now: I asked, hoping we could go back to spoken conversation.

:You ask me this after igniting a flare in the night: Crawford replied, his mental tone almost bitchy. :How certain are you that we aren't being watched:

:Unless they have us on a satellite spy cam: I shot back, then tilted my head back and regarded the night sky. I held my cigarette casually and saluted the stars with it, my middle finger extended just in case we were, in fact, on someone's video monitor.

As though he'd seen my gesture, Brad groaned and shook his head. :Schuldig, this isn't a game.:

:I fucking know that: I retorted, my temper snapping at last. I pushed myself off the ground and started pacing. :You're fucking blind, Brad! What the hell do we do now:

:Prophet, are your visions stronger now that you can't see: Far asked, his mind disturbingly calm. :With your outer eyes closed, is your inner eye now fully open:

I rounded on the Irishman, seeking an outlet for my frustration and fear. :He's not staying blind, Farf! You get that through your head right now! It wasn't gradual, there was no warning. It's not seer-blindness, it can't be:

:Schuldig.:

I paused in my tirade. :Brad:

:We don't know what it is. We don't know if it is, in fact, permanent. All we can do is find a way to diagnose it and, if treatable, do so. More importantly, and the reason I called a code three – Esset must never know.: Brad leaned back on the grass as though looking at the stars. :They think they know how strong we are. They think they know our weaknesses. They do know some things, specifically the weaknesses they instilled in each of us before allowing us to leave Rosenkreuz. However, we have each managed to hold a little back from them, and they cannot begin to imagine our true strength. We have to keep it that way. The day they figure us out is the day they win, whether they ever find us or not.:

Far, Nagi and I regarded each other in silence, each knowing more about his fellows than Esset ever could. This was our strength: we trusted each other, we trusted Schwarz. Our team bond was unlike anything Rosenkreuz could teach, or would likely ever allow. We had become independent of our master, and with each moment of trust between us our team bond had deepened while our connection to Esset had decayed. This was why, even injured, our team link still came through. :Weaknesses can be overcome: I mused.

:Yes, they can: Brad stated. :For one thing, Schuldig, they know that you were not trained as a leader. In fact, I suspect they encouraged some of your more annoying quirks to ensure you would never become one.: He held up his hand to ward off my inevitable outburst and continued. :We all know I'm right, so don't even bother. Now, I am not turning the team over to you at this time. That would be premature, while I am still fit to lead. But you need to know – if I had to, I would make you lead in my place, Schuldig, whether you liked it or not. This is about our survival, something we weren't really trained for. Think about it. Rosenkreuz isn't about instilling real, useful skills in people. It serves itself by making its agents highly dependent upon Esset. We four have broken through that. Now we have to learn what they wouldn't teach. We can do this. But it won't be easy.:

:Where do we start, Crawford: Nagi asked, his thoughts nearly excited. :If Schwarz can embarrass Rosenkreuz further, I want to try.: More quietly he added:And if we can destroy their world…:

:In time, Nagi. In time. As for where to start, first we set up some new rules of engagement. Throw out everything they expect us to do, unless we can turn it to our own advantage. I had briefly hoped we wouldn't have to be so radical, that we could simply evade pursuit until they gave up, but I get the feeling that we'll have to be far more inventive than that.: Brad smiled grimly. :I came to this conclusion because of Schuldig's recent tantrums.:

:What the hell: I blurted, highly offended.

:Schuldig, think about it: Brad stated. :If you find something distasteful, you whine. You do not shout. Shouting you reserve for those things that scare the shit out of you, and you've been shouting a lot lately.:

Again with the introspection. This was turning into one hell of a picnic. :Okay, so maybe I have, what's your point:

:What are you afraid of: Brad sat up and removed his glasses, wiping them casually on his sleeve. :I want each of you to think about this. What fears could Esset use against you? Those are the things we must work on. Each man of Schwarz must be able to stand on his own no matter the situation. Identify your weaknesses, name your fears, and dismantle them, because Esset already knows them better than you do. And you can bet that Rosenkreuz augmented your worst fears, if not implanted them directly in the first place.:

I tightened my mental link and spoke solely to Brad. :What about you? The claustrophobia:

:That's my own, and I'm working on it: he replied simply. :Open it back up, Schu. We won't have many opportunities to discuss this as a team.:

When the team link included all of us again, Brad continued. :Schuldig, you need to work on your fear of responsibility. Face it, and learn from it. I trust you with our team, you have to trust yourself. Nagi, you will have to overcome the fear of your own gift. In time it will cease to hurt you. I wish I could tell you more.:

:I have no fears.: Farfarello made his statement, then withdrew from the conversation before Brad could address him directly. He rose to his feet with ghostlike grace and strode soundlessly toward the Landrover. With two steps he scaled to the roof of the vehicle and stood there a moment, etched against the night sky, before sinking down to a crouch, his watchful eye no doubt scanning the near horizon for intruders.

Brad sighed. :Watch him, Schu. He's not right lately.:

:I've noticed.: I tried to reach his mind again, but all I got was static.

:So what do we do now, Crawford-san: Nagi asked, his mental presence very small and quiet.

:We keep driving Esset crazy, for one thing. That's why I haven't shared our itinerary with the team.: Brad paused, then sent:We don't have one.:

:In other words: I stated into the momentary mental silence:you're making this up as you go:

:Basically.:

I took a deep breath, then lit another cigarette. :Damn, Brad.:

:I hope you didn't fling the butt away. Don't leave accidental evidence, Schu. Only what we intend to leave behind, remember:

:Christ, Brad, what do you want me to do with the damn thing, then: I picked the crushed butt out of the dirt and looked at it with distaste.

Nagi watched with a hint of humor in his eyes as Brad told me:I don't care what you do with it, so long as you keep it until I tell you it's safe to dispose of it, Schuldig.:

:I'm done with my water, you can put it in the bottle: Nagi offered, tossing the bottle my way.

:Thanks.: I stuffed the cigarette butt into the bottle, nearly biting through my current smoke in agitation. :So when do I get to dispose of this shit, oh leader:

:If you didn't smoke, you wouldn't have to worry about that, now would you: Brad muffled a yawn, then changed the subject. :How's your head? And yours, Nagi:

:Not bad, mild headache, seems to be fading: I told him.

:I'm okay.:

:In that case, I want us to move out. Schuldig, we're heading roughly west-southwest. At the moment I'm aiming for a hotel in the Han area. I'll tell you more as it becomes safe to do so.:

:Brad: I ventured, really not expecting a good answer:how vague do you have to be? Is this because of the mice:

Brad nodded. :I'm trying not to have any well-defined plans until they're fait accompli. That way, it might throw their precogs off a bit, at least on the timing of our movements. So far it seems to be working.:

:Or so far, they just haven't closed in on us yet.: I shut my eyes and added:Or maybe, they're not chasing us anymore. Is that possible, Brad? Are we doing all this for nothing:

:Do not: Brad stated emphatically:even consider that we are not being followed.:

:Fine, fine: I grumbled, still wondering if Brad were just paranoid. We hadn't seen any trace of Esset since Japan.

:And I intend to keep it that way: Brad informed me, rising to his feet. :Would you rather see a few agents to restore your faith in my leadership, Schuldig? I arranged it for you once. I should think that would have sufficed.: Not waiting for assistance, Brad turned and started walking toward the Landrover.

Nagi glared at me, then rose and followed Brad, taking his arm and guiding him to the vehicle.

I took a deep breath, sighed it out, then finished off my cigarette. "Damn."

**A/N:**

_Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking…  
(quit drinking…stop using amphetamines…stop sniffing glue…)_

A lovely series of quotes from Lloyd Bridges' character in the movie "Airplane!", and quite the snapshot of Schuldig's temper at the moment. Responsibility does not please him. No, it does not. Especially while he's trying to quit smoking. -

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Karma points, eh? Interesting that you mention that… I'm not ready to blog it just yet, but it's in the works. Let's just say…they ARE working on their karma points.

**_NightMaiden_** – Thank you, I try to make them as "real" as possible. True, that makes it painful for me to do to them what must be done, but…I know how the story ends, and I trust they will all forgive me.

**_Shadowgirl_** – LOL! Do you have any idea how tempted Schu really is to have sex with a man who can't see? It's easier than talking him into wearing a blindfold… (Uh, Brad, would you please put the gun down…)

**_Mikiya_** – Wow. I tell you what, wow. I'm honored. big smile

_**Star Princess Meesa**_ – Thank you for the hugs! It's only getting weirder from here.

_**Mistress Of Anime**_ – "Mind you you should open them at stairs…" Stairs. Check. (Makes mental note, just in case…)

Let's take a little poll, shall we? Who in Weiss World is sane, in your opinion? Anybody? Hello? (You can all stop snickering any time, you know. What about Ouka? She was sane. Annoying and squeaky, but sane.)

Hope your headache is better, I know Brad and Schu swear by tylenol and chiropractors for theirs. hugs to you, sweetie

I'm glad you like the music. I got hooked on Cruxshadows thanks to some anime music videos, myself. Good stuff! (If you like to shop online, there's convenient links on the site, and they help fund the whole shebang – this was not an advertisement, more along the lines of shameless begging!)

_**Yanagi-sen**_ – Exactly that. So far, he seems intent on squirming out of the leadership role as fast as Brad will let him.

**_Lestat _**– Ditto what I told Yanagi-sen. No, the road ain't easy, and it's a long one too. And bumpy. And badly paved.

**_MikaSamu_** – Um, about that journey west theme…when I get to the karma points thing in my livejournal, you'll want to check that out.

_**Arileo**_ – Yep. He has to trust his well-being to people he can't even glare at. You do know he's a control freak, right?


	48. 48

**48**

_I'm having a wonderful time but I'd rather be whistling in the dark_

We reached the Holiday Inn Wuhan before noon the next day. My nerves were buzzing with exhaustion, but I couldn't let my guard down until we had a room. Party of three, fourth floor, crappy view – we were in. True, any security cameras would show the four of us, but as far as the desk clerk was concerned, Brad did not exist.

As we neared the elevator, I noticed a small group of travelers coming our way. One young man had a notebook computer case slung over his shoulder. Nagi and I exchanged looks. :I'll be right back: I told the team, then hurried toward my mark.

I'd been using my gift a hell of a lot lately, more in fact than before the tower, more even than during the Takatori heyday. Thank whatever gods watch over crazed telepaths, the headache was less dramatic each time now. I decided to go for group subtlety this time, test myself a little.

I gently wove my thoughts through their minds, causing them to see nothing but each other for those crucial few moments. The owner of the notebook computer slid the strap from his shoulder and held the bag out to me. I took it casually and turned away from him, all the while keeping his attention focused on his fellows and their discussion about the day's agenda. I riffled through his mind a little more and found an image of the notebook case lying in a chair next to the window, and I reinforced it just enough. When he discovered it was missing, he'd check his room first, and by that time it would turn up in the lost and found. I didn't plan on keeping it long, just enough for Nagi to do his research.

The elevator door opened, and I rejoined my team with a grin on my face and a borrowed computer in my hands.

We reached our room and let ourselves in. The air conditioning was cranked up too high; it felt fantastic.

"Quickly, everyone, let's get washed up and see what we can do about our clothing," Brad said, stripping out of his shirt as he spoke. "We have a couple of hours safely here, let's not waste it."

Nagi set up the computer and started to work. "I'll take the last one, if you don't mind," he murmured, already beginning his search of the internet.

"I'll keep watch," Far offered, sitting on the edge of a bed and watching Nagi type.

"It's okay," Brad told me, "he won't do anything. Help me with the shower."

I guided Brad to the bathroom and turned on the water. Quickly I peeled out of my clothes, and Brad added his pants and underwear to the pile. I grabbed one of the little bars of deodorant soap, ran it under the water, then rubbed it into the more fragrant areas of our clothing. Until we could get to a real laundry or get replacements, it would have to do.

Carefully I helped Brad into the tub and stood close behind him.

"Uh, Schu? I'm blind, but my sense of balance is just fine," he told me. "You don't have to prop me up like that."

"Sorry," I replied, backing off a little.

We washed quickly and deliberately, then I helped Brad back out of the tub and handed him a towel. "Do what you can for our clothes, Schu. Get everything from our bags and see what's wearable today."

I wrapped a towel around my middle and hurried to comply, only then deciding that the air conditioner was, in fact, set way too cold. I turned it down before rummaging through all our bags and sorting the clothes into 'wearable', 'washable', and 'to be put out of their misery'. Fortunately, only a few undergarments and a pair of socks made that last category, but I didn't enjoy discovering them in the bottom of Far's bag. When he stank out his clothes like that, a psychotic episode was sure to follow.

"Hey, Far, your turn at the water," I told him.

The pale Irishman stood and stripped right there, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor and walking into the bathroom. Brad passed him on his way out, walking in careful slow-motion toward the beds.

I picked up Far's discarded clothing and cringed. Not a good sign, here. But at least they hadn't sat in the bottom of a travel bag in the summer heat for several days. I gathered them with the 'washables' and followed him back to the bathroom.

By the time I was done salvaging what I could, I'd used up the deodorant soap and most of the shampoo, leaving only enough for Nagi's shower. But at least we'd have wearable clothes for a while. I brought the damp garments out and arranged them over the air conditioner vents to dry, grateful that they only smelled like soap now.

Nagi took a break to shower, and was back at the keyboard within seven minutes. His damp hair clung to his forehead as he frowned at the little screen.

Far and Brad were dozing on the beds. I flopped down on my belly next to Brad and watched Nagi work for a bit before sliding into an unintended nap.

I had no idea how much time had passed. When I awoke, my hair was nearly dry and Brad was seated on the edge of the bed. Far was out cold, and Nagi was still staring at the computer, though he seemed to have stopped typing.

For a moment I thought Brad was looking at the screen with him, but then I realized he was listening to the silence. :Brad? What's up:

:I think he's found something.: "Nagi? What is it?" Brad asked, voice low.

At the sound of Brad's voice, Farfarello stirred and opened his eye.

"If this is it…" Nagi shook his head. "Crawford, if this is what happened, it is reversible. But…"

"What did you find, kiddo?" I asked, moving to stand behind him and look over his shoulder.

"It's a clotting disorder, but it usually only affects one eye or the other," Nagi said. "But it's the closest thing I could find. It came on suddenly, with no warning. There was no pain, and no other symptoms." He shook his head again. "But, Crawford, it's not exactly the same."

"How is it treated?" Brad asked.

"Anticoagulants. Blood thinners. Warfarin," Nagi explained in increasing detail.

"Warfarin?" I murmured. "What the fuck?"

"Rat poison," Far offered.

I blinked. Nagi flinched, then nodded.

From behind me Brad growled, "I do not have to see you to shoot you. The first one who laughs, dies."

A muffled snicker vanished from the vicinity of the Irishman.

"You're suggesting we feed Brad rat poison?" I hissed, glaring at Nagi. "What the hell kind of medicine is that?"

"It's the same chemical, yes," Nagi snarled at me, "but the method of delivery is different. Besides, a grown man and a rat have vastly different body mass and metabolism. It's a legitimate drug, Schuldig. Grow up." He turned toward Brad and said, "Crawford, there's something else. If I've found the real cause of your blindness, it can indicate an underlying problem."

Brad held up a hand for silence. "Don't worry about that right now," he said softly. "I'm more concerned with getting shot than any health problem at the moment. I'll let you know if and when that changes, all right? We'll go with the warfarin for now. Find the range of dosage recommended for this problem, and note any dangerous side effects. I'd rather take this chance than stay blind for too long."

"Brad, I don't like this," I whispered, reaching out to touch his face. "It's poison, I don't want to do this, isn't there another way? What if Nagi's wrong?"

"Schu, from what I know of this kind of medication, we'll have to watch for bleeding and stomach problems first," Brad told me, taking hold of my hand and brushing his lips across my fingers. "Frankly, as long as I don't have any bullet holes in me, I should pull through just fine." He frowned then, his dark eyes closing; he pressed his lips to the palm of my hand and lingered there. "Besides," he said, shaking off whatever had just shadowed his thoughts, "I'd sooner trust Nagi with my health than some back-alley quack."

I nodded, though the gesture was lost on him. "All right, we'll try this. But you have to promise to tell me if anything goes wrong."

"I promise. I won't try to bluff my way through it."

"What about this underlying condition thing?" I asked, suddenly wondering how Brad knew anything about this medication at all. "Is there something you haven't told me, Brad?"

He hesitated, then said, "Not that I'm aware of."

Nagi hacked into a pharmacy and arranged for three weeks of standard dosage pills, then began covering his tracks. He erased his searches, deleted all cookies and temporary files, reset the internet preferences and then started a new search for porn sites. He methodically sought out the kinds of sites that leave spyware on a computer, and downloaded a number of very objectionable files. I watched with a sort of pride. "Chibi, I didn't know you had it in you!"

"Oh, please, Schuldig," Nagi growled up at me, "keep your pants zipped! I know how to cripple a computer without looking like an operative, all right? You'd think you actually liked this sort of crap yourself! Want me to find a nice German toilet sex website? Or do you still like donkeys?"

Far laughed at that, and this time it was Brad hiding a snicker.

"For your information, you little pervert," I snarled, "I did not buy that magazine! Someone, probably a one-eyed Irishman, planted it in my room as a prank!"

"So why was it sticky?" Nagi asked coolly, still typing away and downloading from three sites at once.

"Because I was laughing so hard I cried! I was laughing so hard I was blowing snot, all right?" Fuck, that damn Japanese bestiality magazine was going to haunt me the rest of my goddamned life!

"'So hard, so hard'; you just keep saying it, don't you?" Brad chimed in, grinning. "Come on, Schuldig, we all know that Farf didn't buy it, you did. You were coked out of your mind and for some twisted reason you decided to buy it and bring it home, then blame it on Farfarello. I swear, if that wasn't enough to get you to clean up your act, I don't know what would have worked." He paused a moment, then asked, "Whatever happened to that magazine, anyway?"

Paybacks were now in order! "Oh, I got rid of it," I purred, inspiration guiding my words. "I tossed it in the trunk of your car. You know, the Mercedes?"

Brad scowled suddenly. "You didn't."

"Oh, yes I did," I said, enjoying this turn of conversation. "Imagine what people will think when they find your abandoned car and look in the trunk…"

Brad concentrated a moment, then said, "Nice try, Schuldig. You threw it in the incinerator at our old apartment building."

I sighed. Well, it had been fun while it lasted, and at least it had taken my mind off my fears for the moment. "It's a fair cop," I confessed.

"At least he didn't keep it," Farf observed.

"I'm done," Nagi stated.

I looked down. The little screen glowed with overlapping message boxes; the cursor didn't move.

Nagi shut it off and closed it, then put it back in the bag. "Now all we have to do is get the medicine, and figure out what we're doing next," he said, sounding suddenly tired. He looked up at me. "The pharmacy will probably be your job. I want some sleep. Is that all right, Crawford-san?"

"No problem, Nagi. Give Schu the information he needs. Schuldig, you and Farfarello take care of this. Pick up some extra supplies while you're out." Brad paused as though getting a brief vision, then added :Don't be noticed, and do not under any circumstances allow Farfarello to draw blood.:

**A/N:**

_I'm having a wonderful time but I'd rather be whistling in the dark_

Ah, yes, "Whistling in the Dark," a means by which the faint of heart pretend nothing's wrong… A brief Farfarello interlude, courtesy of They Might Be Giants_ Flood._ Far's not the one doing the whistling…but Schuldig does tend toward a, er, whistling past the graveyard frame of mind, and on some level he sincerely does not want to believe any of this is really happening.

**Public Service Announcement:**

Remember, unless you are a psionic assassin running for his life, I do not endorse any of the medical practices mentioned in this story. The emergency field medic measures are not a safe substitute for real medical care. While the medical conditions described in this story are based on "real-life" conditions, they are not identical in severity, cause, symptoms, prognosis or treatment – do not take these descriptions as literal diagnoses. (For more scientific detail, I will address this issue further in my live journal.)

I will include the review mailbag with my next posted chapter. Until then check out my livejournal for more information on the nature of Crawford's blindness. My ducks are in a row on this, but you'll have to wade through my blog to see them.


	49. 49

**49**

_a dangerous idea that almost makes sense…_

I repeated the directions under my breath all the way down in the elevator. As we reached the ground floor, Far put his hand on my shoulder and murmured, "It's all right, I know where we're going."

The door opened and the thoughts of the people in the lobby pressed against my shields. I swayed a moment, then recovered and followed the Irishman to the front entrance. My weary mind took the opportunity to notice that his hair was still dyed black, though I hadn't seen him color it. Puzzling lightly at this small mystery, I let Far lead the way toward the pharmacist.

:Can you hear me now:

Far's mental voice came through soft but clear, and I realized he'd been repeating this question a few times already. :Yeah, sorry. I'm not quite at my peak at the moment: I told him.

Far glanced sidelong at me and smirked. :Stress. It's a killer.:

:Yeah, great. Just great. So where are we, anyway: It really ticked me off that I couldn't even follow the simple directions Nagi had given us. Like numbers, the orderly sequence of turns had melted away minutes after he'd explained them.

:You're bad off, aren't you. Just let me do this one. I'll get his medicine, and get you back without an ulcer. Fair enough: Far offered, his mood downright jaunty. :You've got enough to worry about, with Brad being blind and all.:

:Far, don't say it like that. He is _not_ staying blind.: My mental tone carried no conviction, and I knew he picked up on that. Damn it all!

:Do you know what they did to him:

I stopped in my tracks and glared at the back of Farfarello's head. Aloud, in English, I snarled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Far turned and regarded me with one serene eye. "He said to confront our worst fears. What's yours, I wonder?" Then he returned to mental speech and said:That's right, you have several. I think Crawford has already lived through one of his own. That's why he screams at night.: As though he weren't engaged in a particularly deep discussion, he turned and resumed walking toward our destination.

I caught up with him and walked at his side, momentarily silent on all levels. But I couldn't just let this go. :Far, what do you think happened to Brad:

:I think: he replied with thought-filled caution:that he was dragged to the gates of hell and forced to look inside without so much as a pair of safety goggles. I think that he relives that moment when he sleeps.: He paused as though considering his next comment. :And I think that you are wrong.:

:How so, wrong: I asked, somewhere between perturbed and worried at this point. Far was acting way too logical, thinking this through way too deeply. Either he was entering a lucid phase, or he was on the edge of a major meltdown. I was not in the mood to deal with this today! Not with Brad's condition and the overall exhaustion of the entire team.

:Simply so.: Far turned down another road, then paused beside a door. :We're here.:

I entered the shop, not sure what to expect, but what I found was like a cross between a modern pharmacy and an old-world apothecary. Shelves lined with arcane-looking jars decorated the back wall, and a massive cabinet with locked doors took up the left-hand wall. To my right hunched a low display counter bearing an antique brass cash register and several piles of what looked like bars of soap.

The proprietor greeted me with a curious smile.

"Pick up for Dawson," I told him, feeling suddenly stupid. If he didn't speak English…

"Ah, for the heart," he said, his accent thick. "I have here, waiting for you. Something more, a traditional medicine, you try this, okay?"

I stared as he opened one of the heavy jars and spooned some of the powder into a plastic baggie. I glanced over at Far; he was just as surprised as I was. "Um, excuse me," I called out, "what is that, exactly?"

"Cobra," he replied, the smile never faltering as he closed up the bag and put it with a jar of pills into a plain brown paper sack. "Just this much, like so." He pantomimed taking a tiny pinch of powder and placing it under his tongue. "Good for the heart."

"Uh huh," I murmured. Maybe Nagi had some information on this. Then the shopkeeper's words seemed to break through my lingering mental fog. For the heart. That's what Nagi had meant about an underlying condition. As though my mind had disconnected from my body, I pulled out some money to pay for the medicine.

My own worst fear had just announced itself. Without Brad…

My attention snapped back into focus as the pharmacist took hold of my hand and studied my fingernails. I frowned sharply and tried to reclaim my hand, but he held on firmly, pressing lightly on my nails and shaking his head. "What are you doing?" I growled, hoping to hell Farfarello wasn't getting any ideas on how to effect my escape. But Far just stood near the door, watching with bland amusement.

"Here, a present for you," the shopkeeper said, releasing my hand and returning to the wall of jars. He pulled one down, and I expected more powder, but he pulled out a handful of teabags. "It's good for you, too. Good for your blood," he explained as he tossed them into the paper sack and folded the top over with neat precision.

"Right. Thank you," I mumbled, not at all certain what the fuck that had been about, but not wanting to stay to find out, either. The moment I had the sack in hand, I nearly bolted for the door.

:Can you find your way back, or must I play shepherd again: Far asked, quite obviously entertained at my expense.

:Yeah, fine, whatever: I grumbled silently. I had no idea what was in those teabags, or what the guy had meant about cobra powder. All I knew was I was on my way to feed rat poison to Brad Crawford.

:Cobra venom: Far explained, taking the lead as we walked. :I've heard of that. Some say it's better than most regular medicines for heart disease.:

:Far: I addressed him with as much calm as I could muster:Brad does not have heart disease. He is not sick, he is not dying, and he is for goddamn sure not staying blind.:

:It's not Japanese.:

Far's non sequitur threw me. :Beg pardon? What does that have to do with :

Farfarello paused to look at me. :It's a name.:

Chills ran down my back as, without any prompting on my part, my mind replayed Brad's nightmare screaming. :He's talking…in English.: The realization held me rooted to the spot until Far gently took my arm and started walking again. He watched me work it through.

We were both so engrossed in our silence that neither of us noticed the bicyclist careening around the corner. With a crash and a cry, the youth tried unsuccessfully to avoid hitting us, and Farfarello momentarily lost his balance. I jumped the other direction, clutching the medicine like a lifeline, while Far bounced off the side of a tree and the cyclist went down with his bike in a pile of aluminum and denim.

Farf checked that I was unharmed, and seemed convinced that this was just an accident. He offered the hapless pedaler a hand up. The bike frame was slightly bent, the front wheel more so, but the kid was only scratched up a little from the sidewalk. While they surveyed the damage, I surveyed the rider's mind. If he were an agent, he was a damn good one; there was no hint of any shielding or any secrecy at all.

I sent to Far:He's clean. Let's go.: Once we were certain he was moving on his way and not following us, we resumed our walk to the hotel. Only then did I notice that Farfarello was bleeding. :Hey, hold up.: I gently touched the back of his head. Apparently he'd gotten scraped when he hit the tree. It didn't look deep, or particularly nasty, but it was seeping.

Far slowly raised his hand and touched the back of his head. Just as slowly, he brought his hand in front of his eye and stared at the crimson staining his fingertips. An odd smile crossed his lips, and he repeated the movement: touch the wound, stare at the blood, touch the wound, stare at the blood. Touch. Stare.

I shook my thoughts free of his with some difficulty. :Far? Are you all right:

:Not Japanese: he rambled:now that's funny, truly funny. But he _is_ Japanese. That's why it didn't make sense.:

:Um, Farf? _You're_ not making sense.: Shit, of all the times for him to take a turn:We have to get Brad his medicine, remember? At the hotel:

:Aye, I remember: he acknowledged. :I remember a lot of things, now.:

In desperation, I tried to read his thought process, figure out where the fuck he was going with this. But his shields were too strong; he was locking me out. Aloud I said, "Come on, we have to get back now."

"I know we do," he murmured, catching his fingertips in his mouth and suckling his blood from them. "And then my real work can begin. Thank you for enlightening me, dear one. I, too, was blind, and now I see."

* * *

**A/N:**

_a dangerous idea that almost makes sense…_

"Love is Blindness" from U2's _Achtung Baby_ album. And Farfarello takes the stage…

By the way, you can tell a lot about a person's health by their fingernails…

Side note –

"Stress. It's a killer." – this is a bit of fun with Farf's Japanese voice actor. Seems his other credits include Bartok from _Anastasia_…

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

To all, gomen for not answering my mail last chapter! I was in the process of getting a new computer (dude, it's a Dell!) and didn't have the chance. I'll make it up here, promise!

Two more notes: Don't forget to check out my live journal for all my random blurbs about the stories I am working on. And also the soundtrack I am usingfor "Coming Home" is kindly being hosted for download over at Hope Forlorn (a link to is in my profile).

**_WePo _**– Thank you for noticing the little cultural references. I enjoy tossing them in, myself. And I love Nutella on swirled rye bread. It's also good to dip pretzel sticks in. (Not too sure about that cheese log thing…)

**_may_** – LOL! Don't worry, he'll be downright larcenous soon enough.

Hey, you were picking on him in ch 46! (snicker) As far as sane people in WK, maybe Momoe's cat…

**_Narijima_** – I'm glad my writing makes you so, er, giddy. (Sorry, Gluhen dub moment, there.) And, you mean " Jurassic Park" ISN'T a nature program?

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Random randomness, eh? Sounds unpredictable. I'm glad you got some AMVs, those are mighty tasty. There's some outstanding ones for "Yami No Matsuei" ("Descendants of Darkness") out there too, I'll see if I can track down some titles for you.

**_NightMaiden_** – Thank you, I am honored.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Yep, speaking of nasty tasting wait till he tries his new tea…

Which particular quote? Help yourself! It's all good. As for the absurdity, life seems to be a tapestry of angst and absurdity, and most likely difficult to wash…

**_Lestat_** – I like a lot of anime music (Escaflowne, Saiyuki, Gravitation) and I just recently got hooked on Gackt. If you have some music you'd recommend, I'd love to hear about it.

And, one might be inclined to ask… "prop you up like what, Brad?" Schu is very definitely a naughty boy!

**_Yanagi-sen_** – Yes, a Farfarello without fears is a formidable thing… And ain't Nagi sneaky? How much you want to bet that he saw Schu lock up a computer by accident the exact same way?

**_Shadowgirl_** – LOL! Maybe closed-circuit camera would be safer for your voyeuristic tendencies, as far as Brad is concerned, anyway.

The fatigue and adrenalin thing is brutal, I know.

And, whoooo! Another vote for the Japanese Bobtail getting the sanity prize!

You know, Schu is right when he says that damn magazine will haunt him the rest of his days. Or at least a few more years, anyway. You haven't heard the last of it!

Not to sound like a voyeur myself, but I'd love to be a fly on the wall during one of your Yohji outings. Does your friend work somewhere cool, or do people stare?

**_Arileo_** – Wait till Farf goes on a James Cagney kick…

**_MikaSamu_** – "Leavening joy of humor" – love it! It's so true, and so necessary to our sanity, ne?

**_Silverfrost_** – Right now I'm not wearing sleeves. Genjo Sanzo took them.

**_Kimpatsu no Hoseki_** – Check out "The Rain Doesn't Grieve" for the Weiß side of it all, and stay tuned!


	50. 50

**50**

_And something somewhere that you said goes ricochet  
__All through my head_

:Brad, I need to talk with you.: I shut the door behind us with shaking hands, the paper bag dangling from my fist. The folded top of it was clammy with my sweat.

Farfarello had quite calmly escorted me back to the hotel, and up to our room, and now moved to sit beside the air conditioner vents, running his fingers through the cold forced air. Nagi watched him for a moment, then turned fearful eyes toward me.

Aloud I said, "Got the goods. He added some weird cobra stuff and gave me some teabags, guess they believe in lagniappe around here." I hurried into the bathroom to get a couple of glasses of water. All of a sudden, I felt dry and parched and frantically in need of something normal to do.

"Thank you," Brad called softly. "We'll go with this standard dose for a couple of days, see how it works. Nagi tells me the condition can improve in a week's time or so. We'll start with that." :Schuldig, what's wrong:

:Farf.: I replayed the weird conversation we'd had, letting Crawford hear the quiet conviction in our teammate's thoughts when he'd told me "and now I see." :We had a run-in with an unlucky kid on a bike, don't worry, Farf didn't hurt him. But we got a little bruised up. Farf got knocked upside a tree, and cut his head a little.:

:Ah, hell.:

:Where do you think he's going with this, Brad: I asked as I handed him his water and the first of the warfarin tablets. I made a mental note of the time, then dug a pen out of the nightstand and scribbled the time on the paper bag, being careful to specify it was afternoon and not the middle of the night. One per day, same time every day; can't afford to fuck that up.

Brad sighed as he brought the little innocent-looking pill to his lips. He seemed to be steeling himself, or praying, before placing the tablet in his mouth and washing it down. "So now we wait," he murmured, sounding the smallest bit unsteady. :Head wound, Japanese…I think if that Kritiker agent survived the fight, he might be in a great deal of danger.:

If Farf was going into an obsession, there was no telling when it would flash over into full-blown violence, and without his intended target, he could strike out at anyone, even his own teammates. :Shit. So what do we do with him, Brad? With you down, I can't just knock him out and haul him around. I'll need him.:

:I'm sorry, Schuldig, but you're going to have to deal with this one. I don't at the moment foresee anything of interest, but you know it doesn't always work clearly where Schwarz is concerned. You're all too close to me.:

I got up and paced around the bed. My hand still trembled as I raised my glass, only to find it already drained. I wandered back into the bathroom to refill it.

Nagi followed me. :Schuldig, what's wrong with Farf? He's staring at the air conditioner.:

:I know, chibi. He had a…revelation.:

Nagi's mind flashed a series of frightened curses, then steadied again. He took a deep breath and nodded. :It was only a matter of time, wasn't it? So what do we do:

:First off, I'm not leaving him alone out there with Crawford. Come on.: I led us out of the bathroom.

Brad lay back on the bed, one arm draped across his eyes. I hoped he was napping and not just waiting for the next crisis. Across the room, Farf had leaned down and was breathing across the cooling coils in the air conditioner, making tiny plumes of fog as moisture hit supercooled air. My skin crawled from mingled dread and cold: he looked like some kind of dragon, mist rising from his snout as he waited with all the patience of the universe.

Again Nagi looked up at me, his eyes wide and haunted. :Schu, I'm getting very frightened. What if Brad's sight never comes back? And what if Farf forgets who you are again? I can't use my powers, not reliably. I won't be able to protect us from him.:

Memories welled up in me, memories of disasters barely averted, and I had to clamp down on it before telling Nagi something he didn't want to recognize. Whether he was well or not, Nagi had never been able to protect himself from Farfarello. :Let me worry about that, okay? You're on medical duty, you worry about Brad. How's he doing? When would he have any reactions to this shit, if he's going to:

:Side effects tend to be mild, unless the dosage is way too high: Nagi told me, returning to his usual stoic calm when dealing with a medical crisis. :Watch him for :

"I know you're talking," Farf muttered, his head turned so he peeked at us with his one good eye. "Are you talking about me?"

"We're talking about Crawford's medication," I whispered, stepping closer to the Irishman and effectively putting myself between him and Nagi. "I thought he was sleeping, I didn't want to wake him. Do you want to be brought into the net, Far? It's not a private talk." My head felt dizzy, and I realized I was damn near hyperventilating. I forced myself to calm down and offered my mad friend a neutral smile.

Far stared at me, nothing moving but his mouth as he spoke. "You're lying."

"Not necessarily," Brad stated, his voice strong and sure, "but he is mistaken. I'm not asleep." He sat up and started to reach for his glasses, then frowned and let his hand drop to the pillow. "It's been what, fifteen minutes? Nagi, how long do we wait for any adverse signs?"

"Forty is protocol, Crawford. For most medicines, the really dangerous reactions come quickly." Nagi took this opportunity to sit beside Crawford, putting as much distance between himself and Far as he could manage. "But as I was telling Schuldig, warfarin doesn't tend to be too bad in the normal dosage range. We'll just have to watch you for bleeding, or any stomach problems." The boy colored a little and added, "Since you won't be able to see it, and you probably wouldn't feel it, that means someone will have to make sure you're not passing blood in the toilet."

Brad put a hand on Nagi's shoulder and nodded. "Understood. If you prefer, Nagi, tell Schuldig what to look out for. I never intended for you to have to deal with anything so, well, personal."

"I'm your medic, Crawford," Nagi told him, scowling a little. "I won't shirk my duties. But you'll have to tell me if there's any pain, or dizziness. And if you get any hint of sight back, let me know at once. We can adjust the dosage if it doesn't work in the first week, but if it doesn't work in two… I might be on the wrong track with this. I'm sorry, it was the closest I could find."

"Don't worry about it," Crawford said. "I'm betting on this being the right way to go, and I'll let you know if and when that changes, all right?"

While they talked, I watched Farfarello. He'd returned his attention to the mechanical wind, and again breathed clouds into the stream of it. I hated to admit it, but he was becoming our weak link. If we couldn't get him stabilized, he'd be more of a danger to us than Esset.

Esset. Farfarello had slain the highest of the Elders himself, driving his poniard into the man's heart. A blood sacrifice to a forgotten god? In any case, the killing had overwhelmed Far's mind, driving him to become as his code name: Berserker.

He had gone after the clawed assassin, singled him out and grappled with him before the youth could react. Far wasn't looking for combat, he was doling out slaughter. I'd caught a glimpse of Far smashing the other's head against the wall, hard enough to crack the finish. From what I'd seen on the beach, that wasn't all he'd cracked.

His head wounded to death, and his deadly wound was healed. Book of Revelations. I'd heard it often enough before, I probably had as much memorized as Far had. No, that's an exaggeration, but still I knew more of it than I liked. There would come a many-headed beast; wasn't this supposed to be the Antichrist, the herald of the end of the world? Fuck, so maybe I didn't know that much about it, but I knew where Far was going with the Japanese thing, and so did Brad. It couldn't be good.

But if Farfarello hated God, what did he intend to do with the supposed Antichrist? Invite him out for coffee?

"Schuldig?"

I blinked and looked around. Shit, I'd lost myself for a minute. Again. "Yes?"

"We need to come up with a plan," Brad stated. "I can't get too far ahead, or the precogs searching for us will get wind of it. But we need to think of something. We can't stay here."

The reality of the situation hit me: Farfarello, overtly mad and probably dangerous; Nagi, basically non-combatant; and Brad Crawford, blind. And me, Schuldig, showing stress cracks that scared the hell out of me. We couldn't fight like this. We couldn't run far, either.

Then I remembered something Nagi had said, something Crawford had told him, in fact, and it all came together.

"We have to go to Kritiker," I said. "There is no other choice."

* * *

**A/N:**

_And something somewhere that you said goes ricochet_

_All through my head _

Just like there are some movies Farfarello wasn't supposed to watch, there were some bands that he wasn't supposed to listen to, either. Anything too violent or containing too much imagery of blood and murder would be right out. It seems, though, that Far is a big fan of _bloodletting_ by Concrete Blonde, and always managed to find a new copy of it each time Crawford confiscated his last one… Here, "Days and days" sets a thoughtful tone.

**Review Mailbag:**

**_may_** – Just something about the whole situation reminds me of the movie "9 to 5"… major sweatdrops

**_NightMaiden_** – Ah, madmen, telepaths, and cell phone commercials… Nice mix, eh?

You don't happen to be in Michigan, do you? (Tim Horton's rocks!)

**_Tysoyo Kalli _**– Yes, unanswered questions – the kind of thing that inspires Farfarello in the darkest moments of his soul. meep!

**_Fayra_** – Thank you for writing! I'm so glad you're hooked. And yes, Far is utterly insane: he's either a certifiable genius or an authentic wacko, as they say in "Ghostbusters".

As for who Schuldig will end up with…eight years down the road, he's with Crawford. Ain't telling you any more than that.

**_Yanagi-sen_** – LOL! Yeah, Schu doesn't seem the most computer literate person, does he? (Ken could run circles around him in Windows.)

Woo! Thanks for sending me my 200th review! throws confetti

**_MikaSamu_** – Thank you, thank you. Farf has many more center stage moments to come, and I'll warn everyone: when they get to Poland…all bets are off.

**_Lestat_** – He's creepy and he's kooky… uh, wait a minute, I'd better not even start with that!

Thanks for the music tips, I'll check them out!

**_Wilde Phyre_** – Wow, thanks!

**_Shadowgirl_** – I love the Nietzsche quote. It's very true.

LOL on the kisses! Can you just imagine Yotan giving "luv advice" to Ken? Wait, I bet you can.

**_Narijima_** – Very sinister "demons", indeed. And, we're talking about Farf's point of view, remember – Jurassic Park, Jaws, The Birds…Discovery Channel? Or Animal Planet?

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – You should be scared. Stephen King kind of scared.

Cobra venom, btw, is a recent discovery in the treatment of blood clots. Google it, it's interesting.

I don't remember the titles of the AMVs, but one of the songs was "Possession" and the other was something like "Sleep" or "Sleep Now". Go to the Wingboys 2 Fangirls website and Animemusicvideos org site, they have the good stuff.


	51. 51

**51**

_Trapped in between heaven and hell  
__He knows all the secrets and don't want to tell_

"No, Schuldig," Brad murmured into the momentary silence. "This isn't the time for that."

"What the hell do you mean, Brad?" I shot back, fear overwhelming my brief sense of decision. "We're in total chaos, here! We need help, and we're fucked for allies. You told Nagi you Saw me going to Kritiker, what if you had the wrong person?"

Brad seemed to consider this, the little frown line appearing between his eyebrows. "In any case," he said, "this is not the time."

I sat down on the other bed and threw my hands up in frustration. "So what the hell do you want me to do?"

"Schuldig, I said before that I was not putting you in my place as team leader just yet, and you may rest assured that I haven't changed my mind. Things are not so dire that we need to get radical. We just need to get moving, and I want you to pick a random direction and get us back on the road."

His calm infuriated me, his comment about me leaving the team for Kritiker infuriated me, and his blatant unwillingness to even consider it himself infuriated me until the room seemed to glow red. "Brad," I growled, trying to sound like I was in control of myself, "we're in the middle of fucking China, Farf is communing with the air conditioner, and you just ate rat poison. What do you expect me to do, just wander around until we're caught?"

Brad turned unseeing eyes toward my face and said, "I expect you to drive."

"Prophet," Farfarello called softly, "you never answered my question. Are your visions stronger, now?"

:And there you have it: I sent to Brad. :You'd better say something, he'll know we're leaving him out.:

"Not at the moment, Farfarello," Brad stated in a firm voice. "But if that changes, I will inform you."

"Fair enough. Pardon me while I read a while." Apparently the topic was now closed, as Far reached down and began to rummage through his travel bag. He pulled out a tiny, worn, vinyl-jacketed New Testament. The gold-painted letters had long since flaked off of the wine-colored cover, and some of the pages were loose.

:Three guesses just what, exactly, he's going to be reading. Brad, are you sure they can't help us? This is ridiculous! How the hell are we supposed to elude Esset with a raving madman in the car:

:Crawford: Nagi joined in:I hate to agree with Schuldig on anything, but this time I think he's right. Farfarello is dangerous, we don't know if we have the right medications for him, or you, for that matter. Do you have any idea how long this will go on? Or is this our new lifestyle, now:

Brad hung his head a moment, then told us:If Farfarello becomes a true threat to the team, I will put a bullet in his head without a second thought. Trust me to know if it ever comes to that.:

:It's been nearly forty minutes, by the way: Nagi announced, smoothly changing the subject to a less uncomfortable one. :How do you feel:

:I feel fine, actually. Aside from the fact that I can't see, of course.: To me, Brad sent:And what's this about teabags:

:Oh: I replied, trying to remember what the guy had said. :They're supposed to be good for the blood. He just looked at my hands, then picked out the tea. Why:

Brad smiled a vaguely nasty smile and said:Have a cup.:

:What do you know that I don't know: I asked, not liking this at all but reaching, out of habit, for the teabags.

:You need to keep your health up, we all do. Frankly, I can't remember our last meal. Can you:

:How do you know this shit's safe:

:I don't. That's why you're tasting it first.:

I blinked, totally unable to tell if he was joking. :That's not funny, Brad.:

:Am I smiling:

:Well, kind of. But in a nasty, Grinchy kind of way.: Damn, but that look was strange without the shiny eyeglasses:Do you know what's in the tea? Because I'm not drinking it if you don't:

:Oh, for pity's sake, Schu: Nagi sent, snatching the paper sack away from me and grabbing one of the teabags. He held it under his nose a few moments, then frowned. :It smells like soup. Nori broth. With something sharp, I think it's ginger.:

He carefully tore a corner off the teabag and poured a little of the flaky powder into his palm. First Nagi studied it visually, then he smelled it again, before touching his tongue to it and contemplating the taste. :Ugh! I mean, mmmm! Here, Schu, have some: He grabbed my hand and dumped the powder from his hand into mine, then set the teabag on top.

I scowled at the mess in my hand. :Great. Seaweed tea.:

:It won't hurt you: Nagi informed me even as he got up to get some water. :There's no alkali taste, no hint of anything bad, it's just weird.:

:Fine, if it'll make everyone happy…: I got up and went to the little alcove that housed a tiny refrigerator and a coffee maker, then barged in on Nagi in the bathroom. He'd just finished rinsing his mouth out over the sink, and left without a word. As I filled the little pot with enough water for that nasty little teabag, I noticed there was a little packet of coffee in the courtesy basket. Sort of a high-end grocery brand of coffee, but it would do for me, anyway. Brad tended to be a coffee snob, but I wasn't quite as choosy. :Brad? Want some coffee:

No answer.

I peeked around the corner. Far was still seated by the window, Bible in hand. Brad was stretched out on his bed, the heavy coverlet wrapped over him. Nagi sat beside him, propped against the headboard. He was holding his pistol and watching Far through half-closed eyes.

Damn. I didn't want to take too long with this. Turning my attention back to the coffee maker, I barely waited for it to finish cycling before grabbing the pot. I poured hot water over the torn teabag, turned off the coffee maker, and carried my cup back into the bedroom. :Chibi? Everything all right:

:Crawford's sleeping, and we need food.: Nagi set his gun down on the bed and indicated for me to take it. :You can handle things for a few minutes, right? He wouldn't hurt you or Crawford, anyway.:

:What do you have in mind: I looked at the Beretta a moment, made sure the safety was on, then slid it into my waistband. This wasn't the first time I'd kept watch when Far was having an odd turn, but the circumstances bothered me more than usual.

Nagi quietly put on his sneakers and stuffed some money into his pocket. :I'll find a good place to leave the computer while I'm at it. You can do that later. Crawford wants to be on the road tonight, so I'm finding us some dinner and a map, if I can. I know you'd get lost in a shopping mall, I don't trust you without one.:

:Love you too, chibi.: I sat down on the other bed and took a sip of my tea. Damn, that was nasty! Kid was right, it was more a soup than a tea, but even soup shouldn't be this fucking bitter! I started to get up, intending to dump it in the toilet, but Nagi was watching me. Instead I smiled and took another sip.

Good thing I hadn't eaten much that day.

:Maybe you should have strained the leaves out first.: Nagi took a moment to put his brown contact lenses back in, wincing a little, and waited till his eyes stopped watering before reaching for the door. : If I'm not back in forty minutes, look for me. I'll try to be faster than that. It's just the lobby restaurant.:

I nodded, knowing too well that we were out of options. Had been, ever since Rosenkreuz, but that was just me getting bitter. They say you are what you eat; I frowned at the bitter tea that seemed to get darker green the longer it sat. Nasty damn swamp water. I dipped a finger in and pulled out some of the soggy leaves, smearing them along the inside of the cup. Disgusting.

Far didn't seem to notice when Nagi let himself out of the room. He kept reading, his lips moving from time to time as though working out a math problem. Good call on the chibi fetching dinner; at the moment, Far was manageable, but I wouldn't place money on it lasting too much longer.

"I'll keep watch, if you want to sleep."

I startled, nearly spilling my cup on the bed. Farfarello had ghosted up and stood right next to me, leaning down so his breath tickled my ear. "G–rrr shit!" I snarled, starting to say 'god damn it' but stopping myself just in time. "You scared the crap out of me, Far!"

The mad Irishman let out a low chuckle. "Hush, or you'll wake him." He seated himself on the bed and reclined back, looking up at the ceiling. "It must be so hard for you."

Mindful of my volume, I whispered, "What do you mean, Far?" I set the cup down on the nightstand, and let my hand drift toward Nagi's gun.

"You're so confused about what you want, and wondering what it all means. You never get any rest from it, do you." He regarded me with that one amber eye, his expression serious.

"What I want," I murmured, thinking about it before answering, "what I want is for things to be the way they were."

"Wrong." Far looked back up at the ceiling. "And you have the audacity to call Crawford blind."

It's usually best to humor Farfarello when he was being oblique like this, so I prompted, "Okay, so tell me what I really want, Far." I tried to scan his thoughts, but they were whirling too fast; something was about to give.

"What you want," he purred, "is for Crawford to love you, to call you his only, and for that love to magically make the world all right again. But you know nothing."

"That hurt, Far," I whispered, wondering where the fuck he was going with this crap. "Brad does love me. He loves all of us, we're his family." I refrained from blurting out that I really thought he did love me like that, even though he had the hardest damn time showing it and wouldn't admit it even if I held a gun to his head.

"You know what I mean, pretty." He turned his head to look at me again, and his eye held wisdom and sorrow. Just as Brad asleep seemed too young, right then Far seemed far too old. "Keep chipping at it and you might break through. Or you might not. Depends on the nature of reality, in a way."

I frowned at him. "You lost me. This isn't another of those physics quizzes, is it?"

Far laughed softly. "Say that three times fast. No, it's not. It's about deeper truths."

Oh, shit. "Far, don't –"

Now it was his turn to frown at me. "It isn't always about God, you know. I'm not that naïve. But it is a question that I think applies to everything we're going through right now. Free will, or fate? They say most precognitives come to believe in fate. It must be hard to reconcile what you See of the future with the possibility of freedom."

Freedom. Again I looked over at our sleeping leader. He had betrayed Esset, disrupted their ritual, and put his team in the firing line to do so. He had Seen our freedom, bought in our own blood.

Brad Crawford had never seemed the altruistic sort; rather he comes across as a total mercenary. So why had he put his team in the middle of it? Was it just because we landed there by accident, or had he planned this all along? It looked like we were on the verge of saving humankind, when we thwarted that summoning. Had Crawford intended that?

And why?

"The question remains," Far whispered, "are we creatures of fate tormenting ourselves with the idea of free will, or are we creatures with free will tormenting ourselves with the idea of fate? Or are we like billiard balls, bouncing around the table with no sign of an original motivator?"

Slowly I turned and stared at him. "Far, if ever I begin to understand you, I'll be very worried."

He smiled a serene smile and told me, "It's all right. We can't all be learned men. You're probably better with that little pea-shooter than I am, you can feel good about that."

Though he could usually pick up on whether someone was armed, how Far knew I had Nagi's gun was beyond me. "Yeah, great, I feel so very accomplished."

Farfarello leaned toward me and gently tugged me into an embrace. His cheek felt cool against mine. "Are you free will, or fate, dear one? And which is he?" His tongue darted out to caress my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine.

Again I tried to read his thoughts, and this time he let me, echoing his thoughts aloud. "Let's dance for the end of the world. The boy is gone, to get us supper no doubt, and Crawford will sleep a while. He doesn't admit fear, but it makes him weary."

It wasn't too strange for Farfarello to veer from obsession to lust. They were two very powerful motivators, after all. Motivators… Probably not the kind he was talking about, but still the thought made me smile.

:Far, I don't want Nagi to walk in on anything, and Brad…:

Far kissed me tenderly, then backed away a little and stared at my face. :You do love him, don't you. I thought as much. I've said before, I don't trespass. Not that I don't want to.:

I sighed. At that moment, I missed the rough spontaneous passion that was Farfarello. :It's not like we're dating: I told him. :I mean…: My face grew hot, and Far's eyebrow went up. He knew. He knew about Yohji.

:Exactly. I don't trespass.:

:Schuldig: Brad's mental call cut through our discussion. :Where is Nagi? I thought he was on the bed with me.:

"He's fetching us some dinner," I replied aloud, wanting both of them out of my head. Brad's jealousy, Far's obliqueness, my own indiscretion – I was pretty sure the three wouldn't mix gracefully. "Downstairs, at the hotel restaurant. He's due back in…" I checked the clock. "About ten minutes."

"Check in on him," Brad ordered. He sat up and raised his left hand, as if to glance at his watch. Brad seemed to have forgotten that he couldn't see, and frowned a little before dropping his hand to his lap with a sigh. His right hand rose to rub at his temple. :Schuldig, what time is it:

:Quarter to five.:

:Four forty-five: Brad prompted, well aware of my casual treatment of such measures. :I want precision, Schu.:

:Forty six: I replied, trying to shake off the wave of emotion rolling off Brad just then. Shit, he couldn't see his watch. I hadn't even thought of that when this little drama had started, but now the effects of it were making themselves known. Precogs can get extremely disoriented if they don't know when they are, and Brad never went anywhere without a watch. Or two. :Are you all right, Brad:

:I'm fine.: As though realizing I knew otherwise, he clamped down on his shields and stated, "Go ahead and contact Nagi, Schu. I want a full report.

My teeth clenched in frustration, but I did as Brad commanded. :Chibi? Where you at:

:It's not forty minutes, Schuldig: Nagi replied instantly in his best 'baka Schuldig' tone. :I'm waiting for the elevator.:

:Brad's awake, he wants a report.:

:Moo goo gai pan, Hunan-style beef, and pork with noodles.:

I chuckled and repeated this aloud. "Tastiest report I've ever given," I added before telling Nagi:I'll be waiting at the door, kiddo.:

"Schuldig, I hate to ask this of you," Brad said, "but you'll need to get some quick rest after dinner. I want us out of here tonight, and obviously I can't drive."

"I could teach the chibi," I offered. This suggestion met with a singularly sour expression on Brad's face, unbuffered by eyeglasses. Shit, this was going to be rough. "Hey, Farf can drive, why don't we let him take a turn?"

:Schuldig… He's already 'taken a turn', wouldn't you say: Brad observed. :Do you trust him behind the wheel:

I thought about this as I headed for the door; I could sense Nagi about four meters down the hallway. My earlier conversations with Far echoed in my head, leaving behind chilly spots that I didn't really want to look at. Farfarello intended to hunt down at least one member of Weiß; he would make certain he lived long enough to see his plan through. :Actually, Brad, I do. He has every reason to be careful. At least, until he gets back to Japan.:

* * *

**A/N:**

_Trapped in between heaven and hell _

_He knows all the secrets and don't want to tell _

"the Beast", also from _bloodletting_, seems to be one of Far's theme songs, in a way. How tame is he, really? Or, is this quote about Crawford?

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Narijima_** – Thank you!****

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**_NightMaiden_** – Now Farf gets to drive…****

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**_Delfeus_** – It only gets weirder from here.****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Yep, it's a long one! (Hmm, didn't mean that as a yaoi reference, but you never know.) The pace is about to pick up quite a bit; Schu is going to bounce a reality check.****

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**_Yanagi-sen_** – Thank you. Farf has a bit more scary to get, yet.****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Your comment "Bascially it goes like this, Fuck god, he's a bastard" brought back such fond memories…

(Stan) We're "La Resistance," we want to save Terrance and Phillip and stop the war and stuff.  
(The Mole) I can't help you. I'm grounded in my room for the next three days.  
(Kyle) So are we. Our parents think we're home right now.  
(Stan) Why are you grounded?  
(The Mole) Why? Because God hates me, that's why. He has made my life miserable. So I call him a cock-sucking asshole, and I get grounded.

I'll probably blog the bible one of these days… King Jimmy isn't one of my favorite historical figures either.

And, LOL! Don't worry about the Stephen King scary Farfie too much; if I get it right, it'll be shocking but not sickening. Remember, this story is being told from Schuldig's viewpoint, and he'd probably get squicked out too. (Nagi would eat a muffin.)****

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**_Wilde Phyre_** – Ooh, I want a teddy bear! Have you seen the new goth dolls?

And, let me just say, Schu will end up with more Brad than he knows what to do with…****

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**_Meloncrisp_** – Sorry about twisting the twist, but Crawford says it isn't the right time for Kritiker. I wonder what he's waiting for…****

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**_Lestat_** – Heh heh heh! Wednesday Addams hurts god.****

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**_DSC_** – Wow, my very own addict! I'm honored that so many people find this story so engaging. It's my love-child, in a way.

I'm working on a Crawford side story, from before Rosenkreuz and up to the formation of his team. It'll probably debut in my livejournal first, and I'll keep everyone updated there as to its status.

Will that work to pry the reviews out of you? (I'm curious which Brad points you're picking up on.)****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – I love the way you pick out your favorite quotes. I get a charge from writing them, and when I see the ones you like I smile all over again. Tasty tasty stuff.

And, yeah, you should probably be kinda careful at conventions…****

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**_Pureblood_** – Thank you! I love Schwarz, and I hope to do them justice. I used to speak German, but I've gotten rusty; I'm trying to pick it up again, and this helps me practice. Japanese, well, I'm being very careful with that one!

And, in the manner of Shadowgirl, your comment "Thanks for bringing such a powerful yet graceful story onto the net!" just blows me away! Thank you again!****

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**_Fayra_** – Yes, I'm evil. Remember – Rosenkreuz Evil Author Training? And, yeah, Yohji…sigh…

The AMVs we're talking about are for "Descendants of Darkness (Yami no Matsuei)", very good ones that could be teaser trailers for the series. They're on the Anime Music Videos org website. Also, Wingboys and 2 Fan Girls have an awesome site with Gluhen AMVs, some featuring Cruxshadows music (that's where I first heard them). Look for "Coming Home" (an Omi-centric AMV) and "Winterborn" (Kyo and Sena, one of the all-time best AMVs in my opinion).****

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**_Star Princess Meesa_** – Yep, Crawford did reject the idea. For now, at least. But…they ARE going back to Japan…eventually…****

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**_ITSAME –_** I love writing an unpredictable Farfarello. He's got his own logic, even if it's hard to see from the outside.

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**_May – _**Glad you're loving it, and I'm not telling you. (Feel free to look it up, though – seaweed as an herbal medicine…)

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**_Metal Girl –_** Wow, an all-nighter! I'm flattered! From Poland, eh? Um, did I mention that Farfarello is going to do something…interesting…near Warsaw? sweatdrops


	52. 52

**52**

_But every morning, when the light  
__Comes creeping in around my eyes  
__Another future falls behind the one I had in mind_

The last two weeks have been among the longest of my life. I gazed up at the clear blue sky that would soon surround our slender plane and carry us north and eastward, back to the land of the rising sun.

By the time we had reached Hong Kong, about a week after leaving Holiday Inn Wuhan, Brad could see shadows and movement. By the time we reached Singapore, he could see colors. And now, as we were leaving Bangkok, he could read fine print again. He was still taking the warfarin, though we were nearly out of tablets; we only had enough for one more week, and Brad insisted that we procure more, just in case. We weren't even sure that the medicine had solved the problem, or if it had simply gone away on its own.

We still had the cobra venom; Nagi was going to do more research on that before deciding what to do with it. Far thought it would be cool to carry some in a Borgia ring, just to say he'd done it. He's seen too many old movies.

Oh, and I'd finally given up on the soup/tea. I couldn't gag down more than a couple of cups, and none of the others got past the first taste.

Now we were on our way to Osaka. We had kept up our disguises, scattered random trails for the object readers, and taken care to only show up on select security cameras. Though Nagi's ability to lift and move things was compromised, his more passive effect on electronics seemed unharmed, and he scrambled the necessary signals whenever Brad told him to. We would seem to appear and disappear from Esset scrutiny like ghosts.

Brad himself kept an especially tight lock on his shields these past few days. He had made a big show of aiming for Indonesia, and at the last second veered back to Thailand, to board a plane to Japan.

Japan. Years ago, when I had first gone to that country, I hadn't known what I was getting into, though I hadn't been given a choice in the assignment. The culture shock had been terrible. More recently, I had dreaded the crush of people there; my shields had dissolved and left me too vulnerable. But now, I found myself watching Farfarello and hoping to hell Brad knew what he was doing, taking the madman back to the land of Weiß.

To my right, Brad checked his watch, and looked back out the window. I glanced down at my watch almost as a reflex.

When had I started to think like Crawford?

I sighed and closed my eyes a moment. On our drive from Wuhan to Hong Kong, I had gotten very little sleep, and way too much time to think.

Damn, I hated introspection.

Just a few weeks ago, my world had threatened to cave in when I ran out of cigarettes. I had thought nothing of flaunting Brad's concerns and going off alone, though I had endangered Nagi in the process. Ever since Rosenkreuz I had become more and more like a spoiled princess, thinking only of my own needs and wants and to hell with the rest of the world.

But now, as I waited with my team at this little airfield in Thailand, I recognized a change in me. I looked back on the past two weeks and sought the point of difference. While Crawford had been blind, and Far on the edge of his madness, I had at some time wondered what I would do without them. What Nagi would do without us. My own petty concerns had crumbled into dust, and I found myself looking at our lives a little differently.

And suddenly I had understood Brad Crawford a little better than I'd expected to.

Brad would never idly endanger his team. Period. Yet he had maneuvered Schwarz to be present at the pivotal moment when Esset could be cracked like a diamond.

He had expected us all to die there, together. It would have been a relatively easy and quick death, not one to dread, as far as such things might go. He had never expected us to live on, to face the wrath of a wounded Esset. Death now would be neither easy nor quick; they would never show such mercy to traitors.

Something had moved Brad Crawford to take on the very organization that he had served. That something was not a drive for freedom. To a man like him, the freedom of the grave is not a suitable answer. No, there was some other reason Crawford had aimed a killing blow at Esset, and mere bad luck we and it had survived the encounter.

That reason drove him still.

And, it was important enough that he would lay all our lives on the line to see Esset fall.

This wasn't a holiday, I'd finally gotten that through my head, and it wasn't hide-and-seek, either. Though the other side had been maddeningly quiet, it wasn't done with us by any means. No, Esset had to be gathering information and devising a means to deal with us, before we could do any more damage.

That was the key: whether Esset were hunting us or no, Brad Crawford wasn't done with them yet.

:Schuldig.: Brad's mental voice cut in on my reverie. :The plane is here.:

We boarded the small jet in silence, Far seeking out the emergency exit door on one side and Nagi opposite him. I sat beside the Irishman, noticing unhappily that the plane was so narrow that I could reach across the aisle and touch Brad's shoulder. But Crawford said nothing, showed no sign of discomfort in either his expression or his thoughts. He merely checked his watch, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

I kept tabs on his condition throughout the flight, not only concerned about his being in such a small space but not sure if there might be any bad effects from the blood thinner to worry about. By the time we landed, he showed no ill effects, and I wanted a cigarette, though not so badly as I used to.

When Brad was settled behind the wheel of our rental car, he said, "We'll only be here for about a week. Change hair color, clothes, everything. This time, we leave no physical traces; everything we discard, we burn."

"What about the car?" I asked, noticing that Crawford hadn't bothered to wear gloves or anything.

He glanced at me and said, "That includes the car."

"So where are we staying?" Nagi asked, his voice a little worried.

Brad smiled. "Someplace we've stayed before, of course. There's a hotel not far from here. We've used it in the past. Our traces there should still be fresh enough to confuse things. Schuldig, you will ensure that the staff do not recognize us."

Over the next couple of hours, we got settled in at the hotel, purchased more hair dye kits, and located the nearest trash incinerator.

Farfarello kept staring out the window, but I knew these windows were damn hard to see through from the other side, so I left him alone. I stripped the brown color from my hair, frowning a little at the rough texture left behind, but relieved to see an approximation of my rebellious red. I'd worn it proudly through my years at Rosenkreuz, ever since they'd called me imperfect because of it. Some might have thought it simple vanity, but it had been my best form of defiance in that hellhole.

And one thing was for certain: Schwarz was all about defiance.

I smiled to myself as I selected another shade of red that, while darker than my own, was still in the "imperfection" range. It would baffle those looking for a lighter orange, and that was all I really needed it to do.

A light touch on my shoulder caught my attention, and I turned, still slathering the color gel into my hair. Brad regarded me with calm eyes. "Schu, if there's anything you need to do while we're here, I suggest you do it soon. Do you understand me?"

My voice wouldn't work for a moment. Then I whispered, "Thank you, Brad. I'll be careful."

"You'd better. We need you." He turned away and left me with my own thoughts.

I had stashed my memories of Yohji in the back of my mind, filing him away as a wonderful and brief affair. Now I had a chance to see him again, if I could manage it, and at least tell him I was still safe. It had bothered me that I'd had to leave Japan without saying goodbye; he'd probably been quite worried. He just seemed that kind of person.

Then I remembered the past two weeks, and that sense of responsibility that had taken root in my psyche. God, was I really thinking about running to another man's bed, after all we'd been through?

A wet trickle down my forehead brought me back to the moment, and I wiped at the gel with the back of my wrist. Crimson seeped into the plastic glove and stained the scars left by a monofilament wire, making them look like they were freshly bleeding. I quickly finished applying the color and peeled off the gloves, hoping to wash the stuff off my hand before it stained.

"…_if there's anything you need to do while we're here, I suggest you do it soon. Do you understand me?"_

Kritiker.

I glanced over at Brad. He was on the phone, free hand in his pocket, his face toward the window. Is that what he meant? Did he want me to bring us to Kritiker? Yohji still had connections, he had to; an organization that willingly let its agents retire had to have some way they could be recalled, right? If something went wrong or they needed help, the door had to swing both ways.

Somehow I didn't think that Yohji had gone to Kritiker with our conversations, he didn't seem the type to betray a confidence like that, but you never know. If he thought his team, his family, were in danger, he would protect them before me for certain.

But, Brad had said it was not the time.

Then again, that had been two weeks ago.

Damn it.

_Think, Schuldig, think! _We were trying to elude precognitives and clairvoyants along with the more immediate sorts like 'paths and object readers. Brad's mind was so logical; would he leave more traces for them to follow because of it? My thoughts were chaotic, nearly random half the time; I usually didn't know what I was going to do until I did it. That way, other's thoughts didn't have the chance to sink in and influence my actions.

I couldn't ask Brad his intentions.

I couldn't plan my own moves ahead of time.

I would visit Yohji for an evening of talk and coffee, and let things fall as they may.

No, wait… That first day, back on the beach, Brad had said something about this. It was a war, a war Kritiker was not ready for.

I nodded at myself in the mirror. I knew what I had to do, and I was pretty sure it was what Brad had intended all along.

Within the hour, I was boarding the train for Tokyo.

* * *

**A/N:**

_But every morning, when the light _

_Comes creeping in around my eyes _

_Another future falls behind the one I had in mind _

This quote from Concrete Blonde's "Days and days" echoes both Crawford and Schuldig: neither one seems to be getting the future they had expected, and time seems to be hauling them forward whether they want to go or not.

_Side note –_

A Borgia ring is a nasty little assassin toy, a ring with a hidden compartment that holds poison, so named for the alleged pastime of the Borgia clan of medieval Italy.

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**Review Mailbag:**

**_Fayra _**– Thank you for your wonderful comments! I did set out to create a world, and I'm so glad people are getting pulled into it so thoroughly. And I've been waiting for someone to ask about this "Nando"… Answers will come, at least to the readers; whether Schu ever learns the truth, well, that's another question now isn't it?****

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**_Shadowgirl _**– I'm not sure it was your computer, I seemed to have a lot of trouble getting my email notifications of reviews for those two chapters off Fanfic. Maybe they had the hiccups?

And…Brad got a lot of practice being Grinchy during the Takatori days, ne? Not to mention, with the Elders – he thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick. "My dear old coots," the false Oracle lied, "we live only to serve all your nasty old hides. We would never dream of letting you down, and that I say true…(I don't dream, I PLOT, against bstrds like you)."****

****

**_Narijima _**– Farfarello is probably one of my most observant characters. Unlike Schu, who tends to overlook the obvious and dismiss things that don't immediately relate to himself, Far pays attention. To everything. If anyone knows the secrets within Schwarz, the hidden darkness in their souls, it would be Farfarello. And you're right – that's creepy.****

****

**_Metal Girl _**– LOL! Have you read "To Those About to Die"? There's a brief mention of the ' Warsaw incident' in it, from another point of view. Ever gone camping in the mountains? (Hoping you won't catch any wrong details in that segment of the story…)****

****

**_Yanagi-sen _**– A lot of things are going to happen, and very few of them will make Schuldig happy.****

****

**_iGnoRedoNe _**– Whoot! I'm all out of breath just reading your review! Keep reading, the plot is starting to thicken.

**_Tysoyo Kalli _**– Thank you, thank you! And don't worry, I think Schu will get lucky pretty soon.****

****

**_Mistress Of Anime _**– ROFL! "Blame Dubaya" has the right ring to it…maybe we should start there?

Heh heh – zoom zoom! Actually, he's driven before, though it's all been off-camera so to speak (with Brad, in Switzerland – remember the chauffeur outfit?). As for teaching Nagi, I don't think they really care about the legal driving age, do you?

I'm glad you caught how hard the blindness is for Brad. You know, they say this kind of condition can be chronic…

Oh, yes, the assassin word origin is a nice irony for Yo-tan, ne? I love linguistic stuff like that.****

****

**_Lestat _**– Yep, evil chibi. He has lots of opinions that generally he keeps to himself – at least when Crawford is within earshot. Just wait, Nagi will have some quality time with Schu soon enough.****

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**_Arileo _**– LOL! Farf making sense to the sleepy – that's a frightening thought! It's like the 3am philosophy discussions back in college…****

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**_NightMaiden _**– Farf driving reminds me of this old video game where you get points for runnning over people on the sidewalk (the one where they turn into little tombstones after you hit them)… As for which Weiss he's after, place your bets, folks, and let's see who's faster…

Well, if you know of any cons in the Detroit-Saginaw ( Michigan) region, let me know – I'd love to go to one. I've never been to an anime con, been to sci-fi ones back in Oklahoma though (yeah, I know, sci-fi in OK is sort of an oxymoron…).****


	53. 53

**53**

_Hours of forever. Coming all together  
__At the crossroads of a minute.  
__And you and me were in it_

By the time the train pulled in at the Tokyo station, I knew that Esset had not given up: I could feel the sweep of another telepath like a faint searchlight. My shields were now as strong as they'd ever been, perhaps even stronger, so I didn't worry about him finding me through his gift alone. I concentrated on blending in with a small herd of tourists as I made my way to the car rental counter.

Some fake documents and a wad of cash later, and I was helping myself to a nondescript little sedan. I didn't look forward to having to dispose of the damn thing, but it was better than waiting for a bus.

The sense of tension in the air was starting to get to me. Brad's predictions kept echoing in my head; our window of invisibility was closing, if it hadn't shut already. Even in China, I had sensed someone looking for me, though it had been brief and rather distant. They hadn't quite picked up our trail yet, but I knew that Brad was right and it was really only a matter of time before one of us screwed up, or one of them got lucky.

I kept a tight lock on my thoughts as I drove. While I didn't dare send out my own telepathic search, I visually scanned every other person I saw, wondering if they were more than they seemed.

I parked near the bar, then started walking. If anyone had followed the car, at least it wouldn't lead them to Yohji's apartment.

When I stood at his door, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him.

When he opened the door, I forgot all of it.

Yohji blinked in mild surprise, then grinned and invited me inside. Distantly I noticed that he locked the door behind me. Strange, how this place felt like home to me, a home I hadn't realized I'd missed until my return to it.

"I wondered what had happened to you," Yohji said, coming up behind me. I could barely hear him over the television. "Everything all right?"

His breath stirred the hair behind my ear, and I shivered a little in spite of myself. I stopped looking around at the familiar room, the little flower in its black dish on the windowsill, and turned toward him. Standing so close, I could feel the heat of his body against mine, and it was incredibly distracting. "Yeah," I murmured. "So far so good."

Yohji winked, then turned to go into the kitchen. "You want a beer?"

"Sounds great!" I tried to get my thoughts back in order. Damn it, this wasn't a social call, no matter how much I wanted it to be one. Brad's vague comments and warnings told me we'd need allies, and I had to do this right. I accepted the chilled can and thanked him, then said, "Hey, can we talk a bit?"

Yohji regarded me with those sharp, intelligent eyes, then nodded. "Sure. No problem." He led the way to the couch and flopped down. "What's up?"

I joined him on the couch, sipping my beer before answering him. "What do you know about Esset?"

"Personally, or professionally?" he retorted, his manner turning wary.

"Weiß." I watched him, trying to estimate his mood without searching his thoughts. If he felt me rummaging through his mind he wouldn't trust me, and then he wouldn't listen to anything I told him.

Yohji paused to light a cigarette and take a deep drag on it. "Not much," he stated. "They're big. Evidently have a thing for special talents, mind reading, demon summoning, things like that. They treat their operatives like property, from what I hear. Like weapons. Am I missing anything?"

"They know about Kritiker," I stated.

"I'm not Kritiker anymore, Schuldig," Yohji said firmly. "You know that."

"You're the only one I can tell. What you do with it is up to you."

We sat there watching each other for several tense moments. I couldn't warn him about Far without warning him about the greater danger of Esset. It would be like warning a chicken coop of the weasel while neglecting to tell them about the hungry farmer: the weasel might never arrive, but with the farmer it was only a matter of time. Yohji had to know, whether to tell his friends in Kritiker or just to save himself I didn't care. This was my one chance to do the right thing; I didn't want to waste it.

Someone knocked on the door.

I leaped up and reached for my gun, resisting the urge to plow into Yohji's mind and find out if he'd betrayed me: I couldn't keep living the paranoia, I had to trust someone. I didn't dare scan the newcomer; right now I was telepathically invisible, but if I peeked…

Yohji leaned close and whispered, "Bedroom. There's a fire escape if you need it."

I slipped into his bedroom as he strode to the door. Again I fought down the trained impulse to rape out his mind, to know what the fuck was going on. Bracing myself near the window, I forced myself to calm the hell down and just listen.

Yohji was talking in low tones, saying something about this not being a good time. It sounded like he was talking to a woman.

When I heard the door close and the lock turn once more, I realized I'd been holding my breath. Yohji peeked into the bedroom and smiled when he saw that I hadn't fled out the window. "Sorry about that," he said. "I forgot that this was Tuesday."

"You have them arranged on a calendar?" I asked, incredulous.

Yohji shrugged. "Have to do something to keep them separate, you know," he said with a grin.

I shook my head and started toward the living room.

Yohji stopped me with one firm hand on my arm. He leaned close and whispered, "They'd have been shocked to know I had a man hiding in my bedroom." For a moment I considered walking right out of there, away from this brash playboy who I'd thought was a little less foolhardy than that. Then he drew me close to him and whispered against my ear. "There's a good sound baffle between us and anyone in the hall. Besides, I left the TV on. Thank you for the warning. Is there anything specific, or just in general?"

I sighed in relief and let my arms wrap around his waist as I whispered back, "It's going to be a war. I don't know exactly what they want, but you're not ready for it. Whatever it is."

His hair tickled my cheek as he nodded. Then he murmured, "Warnings aren't usually free. What's the catch?"

Thank god he understood! "Keep your man away from Farfarello. The head wound. I can't guarantee his safety. And I can't risk Far getting distracted here."

Yohji pulled back and looked into my eyes. "Why?"

"Obsession."

"Personal?"

"Biblical."

Yohji raised one slim eyebrow at that, then nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Come on, let's finish our drinks before they get warm." He led me back to the living room.

I collapsed onto the couch and picked up my beer. My hand was shaking, but only a little. Though I hadn't read his thoughts, I had the feeling that it wasn't a woman who had come calling. Who exactly it might have been, I wasn't sure. I debated asking him, then realized that it wasn't relevant. There had been no hint of psi talent used, and I trusted Yohji's perceptions to know if it was a dangerous situation. No, it had been an odd coincidence, nothing more.

Then again, he'd had the television volume cranked up when I'd arrived, and he'd looked vaguely surprised when he'd opened the door. Had he been expecting someone else?

"You got a little time this evening?"

His question pulled me back to the present. I smiled and said, "I've got some time."

"You left me with a lot to think about, you know." He studied my face as he lit up a fresh cigarette.

"Should I apologize, or take credit for it?"

He chuckled through the smoke. "You're an interesting man, Schuldig. I wish we'd met under different circumstances."

"Amsterdam," I murmured.

"Yeah. Amsterdam."

I drank, he smoked, and the television babbled.

"How's the kid?"

"Sarcastic little shit," I told him with a grin. "He's fine. Aside from a bout of traveler's distress, that is. It's been a wild…how long has it been?"

"Nearly a month."

"Damn. Doesn't seem like it, does it?" I murmured. My mind whirled with all the events that had taken place since last I'd been in this apartment. I felt like I'd aged a year, at least. Not so long ago I would have been thinking about my own wants, my own desires here; now, I found myself only hoping that he would understand my warnings and act on them without delay. Never mind that I was only trying to keep Farfarello from going off the deep end; this wasn't out of the goodness of my heart, after all.

Was it?

Damn.

"Hey."

I looked up. Yohji stood beside the couch and offered me his hand. I let him help me to my feet; that couch didn't like people to leave it, and tended to suck them back into the cushions if they didn't have proper leverage.

I found myself standing full against him, his hands on my hips, his eyes gazing into mine. "I'm glad you're all right," he murmured.

Before I realized what I was intending, I leaned closer and kissed him. He tasted of beer and cigarettes, and his hair smelled like smoke. More than that, he tasted like Yohji and smelled like Yohji and felt like everything I ever wanted, right here in my arms. I decided to steal what moments I could, because I had the feeling they would be increasingly scarce now, if not impossible. If this had to be our goodbye, it had to be memorable, or I would never be able to leave here.

"Who said anything about goodbyes?" Yohji whispered against my lips, his tongue darting out to tease them apart again.

I moaned against his mouth, welcoming his tongue between my lips as I melted into his embrace. Yohji shifted his weight a little, pressing his thigh between my own with a delightful friction. I angled my own leg to return the favor, and we stood there, entwined, erections throbbing to full life.

Already I felt the weakening of my shields as my desire surged, and I struggled to maintain control. It had been too long, I'd never gone without release like this; during the past couple of weeks I hadn't even had time to jack off. Need flooded me, stealing my breath. Desperate for sensation, I rubbed against Yohji's long, lean leg.

Yohji smiled and eased away from me. He looked like he was going to say something lewd, but he met my gaze and his expression changed from rude humor to warm understanding. His lips caressed mine again, then he took my hand and led me to his bedroom.

He lay me down on his bed, then unfastened my jeans. Strong slender fingers freed me from my underwear, gripped me with deliberate intent. Yohji leaned down and kissed me softly on the mouth, then he knelt beside the bed and tugged me closer to him. I shifted toward the edge, rolling onto my side a little, and he took me into his mouth.

I groaned and tangled my fingers in his hair, already feeling the climax approaching like a freight train. Yohji remembered what I liked, and spared no time delivering it. He started sucking, his lips closing around the shaft and his tongue mercilessly teasing the head and foreskin. His fingertips danced over my balls, stroking the tender skin as they tightened, his tongue found the right place to press, and with a grunt and a shudder I came so hard I thought I was going to black out.

When I opened my eyes again, Yohji had stripped and then lit up a cigarette, which he proceeded to offer to me. I took it gratefully, then scooted back to sit against the wall, sliding my pants off as I went. Yohji sat beside me, holding an ashtray. His cock lay semi-hard against his thigh.

"Thanks," I whispered through a mouthful of bitter smoke.

"No problem," he replied, watching me. "I could tell you were, ah, needy. Let me guess, your regular forms of tension relief are off-limits now."

I chuckled. "Not exactly, but things have been a little weird lately."

"Crawford not putting out?" he asked with a smile.

My sarcastic comment died in my mouth. I felt myself frown as I told him, "We've had some…interesting problems this past month. I didn't think we'd get through it without help, but here we are."

He studied my profile, then said, "You mean Kritiker. That kind of help."

"Yeah, that kind." I glanced at him, wondering just how much to tell him. I couldn't risk Esset finding out about Brad's blindness, and I couldn't put Yohji in between us and them, but I had the feeling that we'd be needing Kritiker sooner than not, and Yohji was my only contact. With a distracted motion I crushed the cigarette out in the little glass ashtray. If I only had access to Yohji's brand, quitting wouldn't be so difficult. Yohji set the ashtray back on the nightstand without comment.

I took a deep breath. "Brad said it wasn't time for that."

"Implying that someday it might be."

"Yeah."

"Why not today?" Yohji asked, his eyes shadowed.

"I don't know." I looked at him, watching his eyes as I asked, "Could it be today? If we needed it?"

"I told you," he whispered, "I'm not 'in' anymore." Yohji reached up and cupped my chin, returning my gaze. "But I could probably arrange something."

"This is bigger than we are, Yohji," I murmured. "It goes deeper than I had ever imagined. I don't know details, just hints, but there's something there, and it's very, very dangerous. If Kritiker is the only organization big enough to stand against them, you can rest assured that Kritiker is in grave danger. Esset never forgives, and it never forgets."

"I'll be careful," Yohji stated. "Whatever happens. You be careful too, Schuldig." His eyes narrowed, and I could see him slip into detective mode. "You're in deep, aren't you? Your whole team is in deeper than Crawford ever told you you'd be. And you're running scared. Is there something wrong with Crawford?"

"Damn, Kudou!" I blurted. "There you go again. You've got too much insight, you know that? He's all right, but he knows things he doesn't tell us. That's no secret, really. It's always been that way. But I get the feeling that he's hiding something important, some key to this whole business, and he won't tell me what it is. He was willing to sacrifice his team to destroy Esset, Yohji. His own team, and yours as well. Brad thought we'd all die there. He's not the kind of man to just throw lives away like that. He knows something about Esset that drove him to sacrifice us all to stop them. And he won't tell me what it is."

"It could be something they were planning to do," Yohji mused. "Or something they'd already done. Tell me, Schuldig, is Brad the kind of man to do revenge?"

A shiver scurried down my back like a frightened mouse. Revenge? That was a self-limiting desire: once fulfilled, there was usually very little of one's soul left. But is it revenge to hunt down a rabid dog? It's not something that's done out of a sense of nobility or fury, rather it's a necessary thing, not bound to revenge but to survival.

Nagi wanted revenge. He'd said as much – he wanted to bring Esset down.

What did Brad want?

"I don't know," I mumbled. "It's all tangled."

"Revenge is like that," Yohji said, his tone soft. "It poisons the heart." He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. "Poisoned hearts will never change."

"I don't think it's revenge. And I don't think it's for the good of humanity, either. Brad keeps his motives to himself, but I suspect they're more complicated than either of those." I turned and rested against his chest, suddenly very weary. With my body relaxed, my overworked mind begged for rest.

Yohji reached up and stroked my hair. "He does seem like a fairly complex man. Me, I'd wonder if it were personal. Not necessarily revenge, but connected to it the way a firecracker is connected to the fire. His motive might be fine and rational by itself, but strike a match to it…"

* * *

**A/N:**

_Hours of forever. Coming all together _

_At the crossroads of a minute. _

_And you and me were in it _

"Days and days" continues, with a visit to a friend. Crossroads of a minute, nexus of time – the stage is set and things are in motion. Or, as some might say, the game is afoot.

Story tie-in note –

Yohji's comment "_Poisoned hearts will never change_" is from "The Leaving Song" by AFI, from the album _Sing the Sorrow_. In the not-too-distant future, you'll be seeing this song referenced in "The Rain Doesn't Grieve". Probably more than once. Yohji has a lot of experience with poison hearts.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Mayaslash_** – The story is already done in my head, I'm just pouring it into the computer in measured doses. Besides, readers like yourself keep me going and give me all the energy I need for a long fic. Or three of them.

**_Shadowgirl_** – (ahem…Schu clearing throat…) Dahoo doray, dahoo doray, welcome Christmas bang!

**_Miss British Teacakes_** – Um, hello? Now I'm confused too. I should never have loaned her the telepath…

**_Fayra_** – I know, I know, you just gritted your teeth through that whole chapter with Yohji. Heh heh heh!

Thank you for commenting on the time-jump and pacing change. I'm starting to speed things up now, since Schu isn't micro-observing his own life quite so much. It's part of outgrowing the princess thing, for him.

Very good, I love it when readers pay attention to Farfarello's commentary. Soon, very soon, I'll be ready to show just what Crawford saw through the gates of hell – "Standing Outside the Fire", the Brad Crawford story, will be coming sometime in April. Stay tuned.

**_Kit_** – ch 47 – The "Far on the car roof" moment is sort of a reverse of a scene from the movie "Conan the Barbarian", the part near the beginning with the Celt scout crouching down, then standing as his fellows ride past. That sequence has a lot of emotional weight, with the imagery and music, and I'll use it again later on in the story. (If you haven't seen the movie, rent it – it's exceptional.)

**_ITSAME_** – Thank you, thank you. Yes, Far has a morbid sense of humor. Big surprise there.

**_iGnoRedoNe_** – Consider yourself invited! But don't poke, I'm ticklish. As for the running around and disappearing, one of my cats just did the same thing as I was reading your review! GMTA, ne?

**_May_** – Dilemmas indeed. And I am honored to be your supplier. (Or am I Schuldig's pimp?

Yohji's procurer? Hm…)

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Interesting that you mention new hope and sunrise – I've got one of my favorite fan pictures of Schu on my computer wallpaper, it's called "New Day New Hope" by Heath. Take a look, it's at HopeForlorn.

What kind of pizza did you get?

**_Meloncrisp_** – Schu knows very well how painful waiting can be; he's usually not that quick.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – You see where this is going, don't you?

**_Lestat_** – Nagi won't be.

**_MikaSamu_** – Answers will come, but whether Schuldig will find them or they will be solely for the readers, I can't say. Keep an eye out for my Crawford story, and stay tuned. (I'll put a sneak preview in my live journal when it's ready. I'll let everyone know when to look there.)


	54. 54

**54**

_I listen closely to the voice of my troubled heart  
__"What in the world was I born to do..."_

I didn't plan on falling asleep. Yohji's voice just trailed off as his fingers played with my hair, and the next thing I knew I was waking up with a delightful sensation between my legs. I murmured a sleepy sound, not even coherent in my own mind, and spread my legs a little wider.

Yohji chuckled softly, his lips soft against my balls. He brought his fingers back into play with a fresh coating of oil, pressing them gently into me as he started kissing his way up my shaft.

With a groan I thrust upward, wanting that mouth. His hand followed, thrusting up into me with three fingers even as his lips closed around the head of my cock. He fucked me with his hand and pleasured me with his mouth until I thought I'd go mad, or come my brains out, one or the other. Yohji gave one last suck and released my cock, slipping his fingers free moments later.

I writhed on the bed, wanting, needing. Yohji crawled up between my legs and placed a hand on either side of my shoulders, bracing himself right above me. "Damn, but you're one sexy sleepyhead," Yohji purred. "I hope you don't mind, but when you started jacking off in your sleep, I really couldn't help myself."

His surface thoughts showed me exactly what he'd seen, and I felt myself blush. Then his erection brushed against mine, heat against heat, and I reached up to pull him down onto me. Yohji's mouth opened to my own. I could feel him getting into position; I raised my hips a little to help him.

But as he slid into me, my mind panicked – we were face to face, I couldn't do this! My body tensed, and pain raced through me as I clenched down on his intruding member. I could barely keep my mind from tearing into his the first time; if we continued like this, I wasn't sure he'd survive it! "Yohji," I gasped, "I can't! Not like this!"

Yohji held perfectly still, neither advancing nor retreating. Then he leaned down and kissed me softly. "Close your eyes," he whispered. "You won't hurt me if you don't look at me, isn't that right? So don't look."

"Please, I'm not sure it'll work," I moaned, wanting him, needing him, and so damn afraid.

He picked up his t-shirt, then regarded me with a curious look. "Trust me," he said, bringing the shirt up and covering my eyes with it. Gently he eased it under my head, not tying it, but making certain it blocked the light.

My excitement returned in spite of my worry, and I gasped at the sudden erotic jolt. I couldn't see – I was at Yohji's mercy, the way Brad would have been at mine. Well, not exactly, but the similarity turned me on in a totally unexpected way. Hot breath preceded another kiss, and I felt my body relax beneath a fine layer of tension.

Yohji thrust into me, his strong arms holding him just above me. I could feel his breath, but I couldn't quite reach him now. Then he gripped my hips and lifted, tilting me back into the pillows. His next thrust hit true, pressing against that spot inside and bringing a groan from my throat. He repeated that motion, and my hands clenched in the sheets.

Quick kisses fluttered along my neck and chin, and back down to my collarbone. Long fingers teased my nipples, tickled my sides, trailed up to caress my throat and linger there as though feeling my breath hissing in and out in time with the sex. His own breathing grew ragged, and a soft moan floated down to me. Then his hand darted downward, wrapping around my cock and tugging firmly.

I focused on my own pleasure, trying not to think of my partner, trying to keep my mind inside my own head. It wasn't too difficult. Yohji ran his thumb over the tip of my cock, once, twice, as he thrust deep inside me, and when his fingers brushed across the head again I felt that inevitable rush well up and I couldn't hold it back. With a breathy cry I came, my cock throbbing in his fist, my ass clenching around him, each sensation intensifying the other; my back arched up off the bed with the force of it.

Yohji moaned and his grip tightened on my cock, squeezing as he came. He let his breath out in an almost-whisper too soft for me to catch. The whisper turned into a sigh. Yohji released my cock with one last caress, then lowered himself to lie against my chest. His lips brushed against my own, the kiss now tender and gentle. He lifted the t-shirt away from my eyes, careful to disentangle my hair as he did so.

I sighed and smiled, gazing up at him. "I may have to invest in a blindfold," I murmured. "For the next time."

Yohji smiled and kissed my nose. "Told you this wasn't goodbye." He looked serious for a moment, but it passed quickly, leaving me uncertain whether I had, in fact, seen it or merely imagined. "Stay the night?"

Something he'd said before came back to me, leaving me curious. "I thought you had a one-night-only policy," I murmured, hoping I wasn't jinxing this but wanting to know.

He looked thoughtful, then said, "Well, we had one night. Then you left. Now you're back, we're having one night. No expectations."

"No expectations," I echoed, pulling him down for another kiss.

We lay tangled in each other for several minutes, warm and sleepy and not a little sticky. "You know, it's funny," I murmured, "but when I go without sex for too long I forget how to think."

Yohji chuckled. "Yeah, me too. Hormones, you think?"

"Probably. Endorphins or pheromones or something."

His hand idly caressed my back, and I stretched out beneath his touch. Old memories threatened to surface, but they were currently outnumbered by happy thoughts, thoughts of Yohji and warm, non-negotiated sex. Images of Brad floated up in my mind, and I struggled to set them aside for a little while longer. What I wanted, I couldn't have. He'd made that plain enough. We might have sex, we might flirt, but there was a barrier between his heart and mine, and I didn't know if I'd ever manage to breach it.

"What's up?" Yohji asked. "You got all tense again." He moved to sit beside my hips and gently rolled me onto my belly, then set to work on my shoulders with strong and skilled hands.

I sighed. "It's tough, loving a man like Crawford," I mumbled into the pillow, not sure if he could even hear me. "He's made himself untouchable."

"Few men have the stamina to maintain that kind of lifestyle," Yohji said. "Tell me, does he open up for anyone?"

My internal alarms went off, but that was only a reflex. Brad's heart was really no secret. "Not that I've ever seen. He's very protective of the team, but that's about it."

"Strange. It's almost enough to make me wonder…"

"Wonder what?" I asked, turning my head to look back at him.

"Nah, if I say it you'll discount it," Yohji told me with a smile. "I don't know him, after all. How could I tell you a damn thing about him?"

What makes a man shut down? I pondered this while Yohji kneaded my back. Brad would almost reach out to me, but he always managed to pull away at the last moment. Well, almost always. There was just enough contact to convince me that there was something between us, something that Brad Crawford resented.

My breath caught in my throat. Resented? Or feared?

I'd been thinking along Rosenkreuz lines, the power structure, the dynamic of dominance and submission. It was so damn hard to get away from that mindset – you can take the man out of Rosenkreuz, I supposed, but taking Rosenkreuz out of the man was proving to be a tad more difficult. What kind of dynamics did "normal" people have to deal with?

What kind of dynamics had I observed, manipulated, scorned, for so many years?

"He's afraid I'll leave him," I whispered, and every sensation of the past hour replayed itself through my mind – all at the hands of another man.

Yohji lay down against my back, anchoring me to the world for a moment. He whispered against my ear, "You all right? I didn't mean to bring up something unpleasant, Schuldig. This is supposed to be your mini-vacation, right?" To my silence he said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I rolled beneath him, and we ended up lying on our sides, facing one another. My fingers toyed with his hair, so long and soft, not at all like Brad's… I shook my head. "I don't know what to do anymore. I've loved him for so long, and he's so distant. Just when I think I have him figured out, something else goes wrong."

"And you're feeling guilty for being with me," Yohji whispered. His hand rose to caress my cheek, an unexpectedly tender gesture. "I don't like men who hit. You deserve better than that."

I stared into his eyes, startled by the protective urgency there. "Yohji…"

"Shhh." He rested a finger across my lips. "You deserve better."

All manner of explanations whirled through my head, and I realized how lame they were, each and every one. He needs me, I love him, it's because I make him angry, he can't help himself…a litany of ignorance. If it were Nagi, I would demand that he never saw the creep again.

But…those were the rules for "normal" people.

We were Rosenkreuz, like it or not. Psi-talents, assassins, specialists of a high order. Brutality within the ranks was to be expected, just as dogs may fight to assert dominance. Supermen? What a laugh. We were dogs, each and every one of us.

Yohji brushed his fingers across my cheek and I realized I was crying, exhausted, defeated tears that had lain dormant for so very long. I wept for the child I had been, the (twelve year old?) boy who loved football and rock music before being taken into the bosom of Esset and made into another (whore) killer with a broken soul.

I, deserve better? Better than a violent-tempered man who resorts to his fists when pushed to his limits? Better than my team leader, the rightful claimant for everything I had or was or might become? Christ, I'd fought them for so damn long and they were already inside my head!

I lay against Yohji until the storm passed and my breathing returned to normal. When rational thought was again possible, I looked at myself and my image of Brad for a long moment, trying to decipher what was true and what was perception.

One memory rose up, hovered as though wondering if I would notice it. I'd returned to the team after that disastrous outing with Nagi, after Yohji had patched me up. (_Einmal Rosen, immer Rosen..._) Brad had been so dark, so dominant, so very much the man they had made him to be.

And yet… (_"Schuldig, don't ask. Whatever you're thinking right now, don't ask it."_)

And yet… (_"You're mine. I'll share if I have to, because that's part of who you are, but where it counts, you're mine. Never forget, and never doubt it, Schuldig. No matter what happens."_)

And yet… (_"Brad, do you love me?"_)

I had rarely seen fear in Brad Crawford's eyes, but that day it had nearly screamed out at me.

What had they done to him?

"Yohji, I…"

"You're going back to him." He regarded me with sad, wise eyes, eyes that had seen too much.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not like we're married." Yohji reached for his smokes.

"We're Rosenkreuz, Yohji. Nothing can change that, until we find a way out on our own." That didn't excuse Brad's fits of temper, or mine, for that matter, but it did explain much, at least to my own mind. "I'll miss you, though," I added, my voice cracking a little.

"Then visit from time to time," Yohji whispered, his gaze steady. "It's not like you two are married either. Give him the loyalty he deserves, but make sure to take some time for you. I'll be here."

"Then I'll visit," I replied, "though I can't say when."

"Can't or won't?" he asked, and for a moment I thought he was being serious.

Then I caught the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and I laughed. "I don't share my travel plans with Weiß. Besides, it's all spontaneous."

"I like spontaneous," Yohji murmured, discarding his just-lit cigarette and drawing me into his embrace.

* * *

**A/N:**

_I listen closely to the voice of my troubled heart _

_"What in the world was I born to do..." _

Translation of "Fragrance" from Gackt's _Moon_ album. This song sounds like something Yohji would make out to, sensual and meaningful and haunting.

Foreshadowing? Yohji? Nah…

Note – Schuldig's musings refer to Chapter 33.

_**Public Service Announcement:**_

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Unless you're both mildly psychotic Esset operatives (or runaways from that esteemed organization), if your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/etc. hits you, even ONCE – _LEAVE_. Period. Go to a friend, family member, shelter, whatevery you have to do but DO NOT STAY in an abusive situation. They never get better, and your life is worth more than an illusion of domestic bliss. Thank you.

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**Review Mailbag:**

**_Narijima_** – Thanks for letting me know my transitional worked. I was kinda worried about that one.

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**_Yanagi-sen_** – Oh, the inner workings of Crawford's mind will be revealed soon enough. And, yes, it's a scary place.

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**_May_** – As for how complicated things are getting…have you seen "Gluhen"? I have to get Weiß, Schwarz, the Crashers (Crashers, people, not Crushers! Damn cut-rate dubs!), and a number of other people to show up at the same time about 8 years hence. And you know what? Unlike the show, I plan on making SENSE!

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**_Fayra_** – mumblemumblemumble… I'd better keep you and May separated, then! Gotta make sure the BxS and YxS factions don't riot!

The Brad story will cover the time from his "discovery" by Rosenkreuz up until he "discovers" his own team. There will be many, many answers.

I'm going to use "WinterBorn" a little later. I love that song too – and it's a VERY Weiß Kreuz song. Have you seen the AMV about Kyo and Sena? It's a Wingboys & Two Fangirls production, and it's outstanding.

I've been trying to keep my chapter quotes time-relevant, limiting myself to songs that were out at that time in the story. But, with "Rain", I'm ignoring that rule, and I think I already broke it here with the AFI song. What do you think, try to stick with it or chuck the "rule" out the window?

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**_Mayaslash_** – Hello again! And if you think the plot's complicated, wait till you hear about all the behind-the-scenes stuff. I'll blog on that later on, I don't want to toss spoilers just yet.

Oh, yes, all the reasons are locked away in my devious little head. Let me just toss out a little "Star Trek" quote here – there is an old Klingon proverb that says revenge is a dish that is best served cold.

I'm so tickled that you're hooked. I applaud all my devoted readers, and I hope to satisfy everyone by story's end.

****

**_Shadowgirl_** – Okay, another YxS fan – be sure to take shelter on the side of the room away from Fayra, okay? (heh heh heh – Schu would love this stuff!)

Why, thank you for the tip o' the hat! Haven't had one of those in a good long while.

By all means, have fun with Yohji away messages. I'm all about having fun with other people's stuff. (cough – Project Weiß!)

"OH!" indeed…

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**_Lestat_** – Mmm mmm good! Oh, and do join the party in the YxS corner, the BxS folks are a little jumpy lately.

Tell me about this movie?

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**_ITSAME_** – Wonder away.

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Whooo, Review #250! Have a brownie!

See, Yohji got some action. You're right about Yotan being Schu's main supporter lately. Funny how he rationalizes his own "one night only" policy just for Schuldig…

Go wonder with Itsame. I'm curious who the popular vote will say it was at Yohji's door.

Ooh, Side B tutorials and practical veterinary moments. My heart goes out to you and the cat. Is he okay?

What's your favorite sushi? Is there one that squicks you out? (Me favorite – either the crab or the egg. Squicks – fish eggs or anything with tentacles.)

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**_Kit_** – I like mindless praise.

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**_NightMaiden_** – Thank you so kindly! Part of my writing secret is having a set of rules for each character, rules that aren't necessarily mentioned anywhere but really affect how they must be written. For example (I know, I told Maya I wouldn't just yet, but this is a little one!), Schuldig is the kind of person who, er, should never be allowed in a karaoke bar. He can't carry a tune in a bucket, yet he'll belt out a song at full volume given half a chance. This tells a lot about his temperament, even if it's never a big plot point. Whenever I get stuck, I can put on some music that he'd probably sing along with, and if I just let myself "go there", the story starts writing itself.****


	55. 55

**55**

_And I am the face you see within the mirror  
__And I am the hand that holds the fist away  
__And I am the dream forgotten in the morning  
__And I am… I am…_

Too soon, too late. The landscape flashed past my window as the train rushed me back to my team. I wasn't sure what I'd find when I got there, but my insides were squirming. The past several hours had been bliss, and something in my head told me I would likely pay dearly for them.

Damn it, why couldn't I just accept a few moments of happiness without falling back into that Rosenkreuz mindset? Real people don't have to pay for their joy, or suffer because of it. This shit was giving me a headache. I leaned back in my seat and tried to relax, but all I could think of was disaster.

_This is ridiculous._ I gritted my teeth in aggravation. _They don't own me. Not anymore._

Thanks to Brad, they didn't own any of us.

A soft whisper from my own mind brought a tremor of uncertainty, and I paused to look at it a little more closely. Doubt? Of Brad?

_Wait a minute…_

I frowned and concentrated inward. Something had just made sense, an ugly kind of sense that made me want to spit in disgust.

That inner voice in my head…that voice wasn't mine.

Half a dozen other telepaths had been in my head at one time or another, in training sessions or mock combat or simple brutality. They had all left scars, but only the teachers were strong enough to leave suggestions, or commands. I'd been dancing to their music all along: the self doubts, the uncertainty, the unquenchable longing – when I was a child, I hadn't had any of that.

The headache flared behind my eyes, but I refused to let go. I fought to see the boy I had been, the untouched mind that was my only link to my own past. It hurt like hell. I wasn't sure if something inside my head was broken, or if someone along the way had decided it would be better if I simply couldn't remember. In either case, I pushed into the fog of time and tried to dismiss the growing agony. I'd had worse than this; it wouldn't kill me.

Like a breath of a whisper, a name drifted upward, only to be swallowed away again. But that moment was enough. With a gasp I broke out of my trance, looking around quickly to see if any of the other passengers had noticed anything. But no, I had this corner of the car to myself, and my initial suggestion to ignore the lanky gaijin had apparently worked quite well.

I could see inside my own mind the glowing edges of imposed thought, things that didn't belong, things that had never been mine. Behind them danced my past, darting out of reach faster than a dragonfly. Still, I had what I needed: I knew the truth of my own heart. Whoever I might have once been, I was now and ever Schuldig, self-named and self-made, proud member of Schwarz and right hand of Brad Crawford. I loved two men, and owed the world nothing in return for that love.

I did not doubt either of them.

The brief urge to run away from Crawford vanished, as did the crushing guilt over my own happiness. The dark words and poisonous whispers evaporated from my mind, taking with them the remembered voices of telepathic teachers who had spared me no compassion. For the first time in many years, my thoughts were truly my own.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. I sat there, panting open-mouthed, and staring at my reflection in the train's smudgy window. The intensive programming wouldn't unravel all at once, but I'd given it a good solid rip. It couldn't remain in place much longer.

My reflection had a nosebleed.

I wiped absently at my lip. My hand trembled, and the headache began to swell to life again. Rather than try fighting it this time, I shut my eyes and tried to focus on calming things.

All I could think of was Yohji. The scent of him, the texture of his skin, the delightful moments when I couldn't see him but had to rely on all my other senses. I felt my pulse slow until it was almost normal, and my back relaxed a little in spite of the train's unpredictable jolts.

Yohji, my sweet lover. So sensual, so very different from most of the men I'd ever lain with. That he cared went without question. And he was amazingly not jealous. Concerned, but not possessive. He couldn't see Brad as anything other than abusive, which only made sense. Brad didn't like to show much of anything else, for fear of seeming weak.

Then Brad's sleeping face floated up before my mind's eye, and I smiled. Yes, we of the Rose Cross were broken men, but not as broken as they hoped we were. In his sleep, he remembered who he was, and I suspected he remembered while awake, too. Brad Crawford knew who he was; it was the 'why' that eluded him.

I needed both of them.

This sudden and painfully bright clarity amazed me. It was as though I'd torn through a fine membrane and discovered my self on the other side._ I needed both of them._ No guilt, no shame, no sorrow – just me. Needing them. Brad's solidity, his confidence, his anger: these things kept me strong, sure, and driven. Yohji's gentleness, his perceptiveness, his warmth: these things kept me trusting, observant, and humane. Without Brad, I would forget to fight. Without Yohji, I would forget why. My heart sang with this knowledge.

And in that moment I realized why Esset wanted us stopped. Needed us stopped. All their training, all their brainwashing, all their control was nothing compared to the power of love. I had something to anchor to that they could not control, and it was stronger than they could ever hope to be. It didn't matter whether my love was returned, either. Being loved is good, but being able to love is grace, and I felt as though I were in a state of grace so pure no one and nothing could disrupt it.

_I, Schuldig, once a boy with an unremembered name, can love._

Esset loved nothing. Esset would destroy the simple human capacity for love, for without it, life becomes cheap and men are easily controlled. It tried, oh it tried, with me. Time and again I suffered the worst punishments Rosenkreuz could dish out, all because I refused to surrender my humanity without a struggle.

And my defiance had finally paid off. I had become free. Never again would they control my mind, or my life. They could kill me, but I would never break.

And, what then of Schwarz?

If Esset hoped to bring us in alive, they were in for a rude surprise. A rude surprise that Brad Crawford had set in motion, I suspected, many years ago.

I was free. Nagi was craving vengeance. Far was beyond their control. And Brad Crawford was…well, Brad Crawford, perhaps the only man capable of taking on Esset and winning.

Kritiker has been warned.

_Now, let the war begin._

* * *

**A/N:**

_And I am the face you see within the mirror _

_And I am the hand that holds the fist away _

_And I am the dream forgotten in the morning _

_And I am… I am… _

"Breathe", CXS _Mystery_. The face in the mirror…the little boy who became Schuldig? The hand that holds the fist away…Yohji, and Brad? The dream forgotten…? Deep, very deep.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_May_** – In a very short while you'll have one of your wishes granted: Yohji's take on things. Rest assured it will be quite different from Schuldig's in some very quirky ways. (Pay attention to the stumbling drunks!)****

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**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Wow, thank you! I'm so glad you like it! Do stay tuned for my upcoming Brad Crawford side story/history, which may help explain why things are so touch-and-go between him and Schuldig. Trust me, there's more to The Man than he's letting on.****

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**_iGnoRed One_** – ch 54 – I find Schu and Yotan rather tasty myself.

ch 53 – thank you for the cookies!

**_Yanagi-sen_** – Charging by the hour? Oh, right – psychologist, wink wink. Heh heh heh.****

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**_Kari-chan_** – And thank you for reading and letting me know how much you like my story. It means a lot to me that so many people care about these guys.

**_Lestat_** – Movie definitely sounds cool. I'll have to check it out, thanks!****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Oh, Nagi was trained at "Rosenhell" too. And Far had a brief time under their study (er, they were studying him). But more on all that later. I'll be blogging some stuff about Rosenkreuz and character development soon. It's a hard and twisted road they have travelled.

Yohji would appreciate the glomp. His side of things will be coming out soon in "Rain", and he needs a good friendly glomp about now.****

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**_Wilde Phyre_** – Nope, no end in sight. (If there were, it would be along the lines of "the light at the end of the tunnel was just a frieght train comin' their way"…)****

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**_Fayra_** – Oh, the complications! Brad & Schu, Yohji & Schu, Yohji & Ran (oops, spoiler!), Ken & Manx…

Not only have I seen "Alles Schwarz," but it's one of my favorites! I even had to buy the album just so I could take the song to work with me!

Oh, and…APRIL FOOL! Ken & Manx, not bloody likely. Not in my world, anyway. (She's too businesslike to mess around with a field agent. Besides, she's still faithful to Persia.)****

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**_mayaslash_** – Yes, he most certainly is out for revenge. More so than Ran ever was on Takatori. In fact, Brad's vengeance makes Ran look like a 5-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.

Lovecrows o' doom – LOL! So true! There's a Cruxshadows song that reminds me of them in that regard – "Cruelty". The chorus is about Cruelty and Consequence; Brad would be Consequence.

Cool song you sent. It does look like them, doesn't it?****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Good catch on Yohji. Yes, there's stuff going on with Yotan that will come out more in "Rain". And yes, there will be many answers in Brad's story. It takes a lot to crack that shell of his…

**_Shadowgirl_** – You know what's funny? I try to get in the characters' mindsets when writing them, but for some reason I do the Yohji/Schu dialog best when I'm in a Ken frame of mind. Weird, huh? (I think Schu just goes all brain-fried at the prospect of a naked sweaty Yotan, while Ken could just sit back and say "yeah, he's sweaty".)****


	56. 56

**56**

_Steps have been taken, a silent uproar  
__Has unleashed the dogs of war_

As I made my way back to our hotel room, I had the persistent feeling of being watched. I increased my speed, and my caution.

Brad met me at the door. "Ah, good. You're right on time." He paused, looking into my eyes, then nodded. "Exactly on time."

The hotel room looked as neat as if no one had stayed there. The team was packed and ready to move out.

Brad took a slip of paper out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me: a list of city names, locations I knew to hold Esset facilities. I looked up at him, puzzled.

"Take your camera," he stated, "and get yourself some binoculars. Go to these places; it doesn't have to be in this order. Take pictures. Take notes. Be noticed. I want them running scared."

Excitement buzzed in my chest. "Tell me," I whispered, wanting to know more of what he had in mind.

A dark smile touched his lips as he adjusted his eyeglasses. "They've been herding us, learning how to make us move where they wanted," Brad said. "We've been playing their game, and that game was chess. Move, countermove, with a limited and known number of options. We're not playing their game anymore. I'm calling this round, and the game is backgammon."

Excitement turned into confusion: Brad didn't usually resort to metaphors. "Um, I don't follow?"

"As I said, with chess it's move, countermove," Brad explained. "A mathematician could predict the outcome. But with backgammon, there's a random element. Sometimes you get to move twice. Even more, if you're careful. And I intend to be very careful."

"So, what exactly are we doing?" I asked, curious now.

Brad watched my face as he answered. "I'm splitting the team."

I glanced at Nagi and Farfarello, and saw from their eyes that they already knew this. I swallowed and asked, "Why?"

"To take the second move." Crawford glanced down at his watch. "And we have to hurry. I'm taking Nagi with me. You and Farfarello are to wait fifteen minutes after we leave, then set about that list. I don't care if you fly, take a boat, whatever you have to do. Just get there, and make them notice you. If you have to 'lose' your notes somewhere along the way, so much the better. Make it look natural, and be sure it's something that will unnerve them. I want them to think we're everywhere at once, with connections within their ranks. I want them to think we're about to start something." That sinister smile came again as he added, "We're throwing rocks at the hornet's nest. I want them too pissed off and too scared to be rational."

"How certain are you that this will work, Brad?" I blurted, not at all comfortable with this plan. "What exactly do we get out of this?"

"We get chaos. And, with that, we gain time, and control of the game. It's either that, or wait till they figure out how to snare us, and I for one am not willing to go that easily. Besides, what we learn right now will serve us later. I've Seen as much."

Before I could say anything else, Brad stepped closer and pulled me to him, his grip strong and sure. He stared into my eyes as if searching for something. I found myself thinking about the train, and the understanding I had gained on that journey. Brad slowly nodded as if he had read my thoughts. His eyes closed and he kissed me, hard and passionate and commanding, and not at all afraid.

My soul reeled, the differences between his kiss and Yohji's making me dizzy. My arms wrapped about his waist and held him close to me. Again, Brad's kiss was all about claiming, but this time there was a powerful tenderness beneath it all, drawing me into the certainty of his will without a struggle.

Brad breathed against my mouth, "You're ready, Schu." He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. His glasses were smudged; he didn't seem to notice. "Be careful."

"When are we meeting up again?" I asked, not yet letting go of him.

"I don't know." He put a finger to my lips to ward off my next question and said, "You know how to find me. And I'll know when. Trust me."

I nodded, and allowed him to go clean his glasses.

Beside the door, Nagi said nothing.

Beside the window, Far said nothing.

"Chibi, you be safe," I said, trying to engage the kid in a friendly goodbye. "Take care of him for me."

Nagi's eyes darkened as though he was about to cry. He looked down and mumbled, "I will. You and Farf, watch out for each other, okay?"

"We will, kiddo."

Brad picked up his travel bag. "Fifteen minutes. No more, no less. If you're running late, don't use the front door."

I nodded, unable to speak. I watched as Brad opened the door and followed Nagi into the hall. Neither looked back.

As the door clicked shut, Far whispered, "Fourteen fifty-nine. Fourteen fifty-eight…" He was probably more accurate than the clock radio on the nightstand.

I resisted the urge to look out the window, see if I could find them on the street. This had been too fast, too sudden. Already I could feel the numbing concern rising in me. It was one thing for me to wander off alone from time to time, but having Nagi removed like this really bothered me. I knew that he was going to be safe enough, as safe as any of us could be under the circumstances, but still. He was our child, and now all I could do was wait to find them again.

I knew how, and Brad would know when.

Bloody hell.

"Fourteen twelve…"

I looked at Brad's list. On impulse, I turned it over to see if there was an impression on the paper that might tell me if he had a similar list. No such luck; if he did, he'd torn this page off before writing anything else.

Then I really looked at the list.

Berlin.

Copenhagen.

Hamburg.

Minsk.

Lyon.

Stockholm.

There were several more, but my eyes blurred. Eastern Corridor, and Nordsee. With a few random European locations thrown in for good measure.

The random element…

With quick, practiced moves I rearranged the things in my travel bag so the camera was easily accessible. I still had some undeveloped film, and briefly I wondered if Brad or the other two had any idea how to use a darkroom – we sure as hell couldn't drop it off at a SpeedyPhoto kiosk.

Brad had said it didn't matter the order we hit the cities in, but the first one held my attention. Berlin, the officer's academy. _I had been there, once…_ The headache flared; I gritted my teeth against it. _I was…twelve. I knew what kind of people came out of Berlin, and I didn't want to be like them. I ran away…_

Later I'd run away from Rosenkreuz itself, and irony had led me back to Berlin. It was there that Brad had found me, and fetched me back. There had been no punishment that time, only a grudging respect for my inventiveness, and a promise to kill me should it ever happen again.

They might wonder what I was up to if I surfaced in Berlin. They might even get the wrong idea. I grinned to myself. If I understood Brad's plan, that would be the whole point.

We would start there, then: at the heart of Esset's training grounds, the jewel cradled between the Eastern Corridor, the Nordsee Triangle, and Mainland Europe.

"It's nearly time," Farfarello stated simply, his voice flat.

"Let's go."

We gathered our things, Far still counting down the seconds.

As his lips formed the words "zero thirty", we shut the door behind us.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Steps have been taken, a silent uproar _

_Has unleashed the dogs of war_

With "The Dogs of War" from Pink Floyd's _A Momentary Lapse of Reason_, we return to Brad Crawford's agenda, which is a bit of a surprise for Schuldig, but not as big a one as he might want to think. Brad will only run so much before he turns, and bites. (In fact, this moment has been twelve years coming, and he's not done yet…)

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Yanagi-sen_** – It's going to suck for a lot of people. Fortunately, I'm sort of on Schwarz's side, so it'll suck much worse for Esset. Eventually.

**_Kit_** – Dude.

**_May_** – Logs? Me? looking quite innocent

**_Shadowgirl_** – Sorry about making you melt – need a bucket? I seem to have a spare.

**_Lestat_** – I've got the movie in my Greencine queue as we speak. It should be here next week or so.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Okay, Ezri, the Pope thing was creepy. So creepy I had to write a Farfarello chapter for next week just to get over it.

Yes, one very bloody war. A 32-year war that only looks like it's starting now because Schuldig is new to the ranks… (It's already been going on a covert level for twelve years – more to follow…)

**_ITSAME_** – Why, thank you. My Ken-muse enjoys giving Yohji some good lines for a change – much nicer than his English-speaking voice actor from the original series!


	57. 57

**57**

_Stop staring at me like a bird of prey  
I'm all mixed up, I got nothing to say_

We got out of the car and I made certain the driver would remember nothing about his two passengers. It amazed me how easy it was to hitchhike across Germany, for a telepath, anyway. But we were too close to our goal, now; we'd have to go the rest of the way on foot.

I felt high on excitement. Ever since the plane landed I'd felt a constant, low-level mental hum, a sensation I hadn't realized I sort of missed. It was the buzz of a higher concentration of psi-talents, the unheard noise that was Esset, and we were walking into their midst. I could feel my own talent responding to the increased pressure, walling me in with shields far stronger than I'd possessed the last time I set foot in this country. That would make it damn hard for any hunters to track me down.

True, there was no reason to believe that I was in any way invisible to them, but I couldn't worry about that. To think about discovery would be to call them to me, and that wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted was to make them dance to my tune, to Brad's tune, actually. I'd debated my strategy for hours on the way here, with Far a calm stoic presence by my side, and now I felt pretty confident in my choices.

My feet sought out old familiar roadways. My shields resonated a soft absence, a lack of identity that would make any pursuers a little uncertain. Farfarello was eager yet calm, and quite willing to follow my lead. With my head held high, I all but danced into Berlin.

It had been nearly eight years since I'd been here last, but not much seemed to have changed. Not in any meaningful way, at any rate. The crowds still bustled, the businessmen and women still ignored the radical elements, and the disaffected youth still sought entertainment, having given up on meaning long ago.

God, I loved this place. One could become lost here, if there weren't a retrieval unit actively searching for him. A retrieval unit headed by Brad Crawford, no less. I grinned and shook my head. And now I was back here, on his orders. "Who'd have thunk it?" I murmured to myself, too highly amused for my own good.

Beside me, Far cleared his throat. "What next?"

"Contacts. I need to get the local forecast." I led us to the seedier streets, the streets that existed in every city but not on any maps. The kind of places braver tourists sought out for an evening's companionship. I had no illusions about finding any of my old associates here: eight years is a long time for street-dwellers, no matter how careful. Still, I knew I could get information here, and the people were wary enough to guard against Esset followup, even if they didn't know exactly what that meant. It's nice to know a paranoid populace when one needs informants.

It was still early in the day, so there were precious few people about. Like vampires, that crowd is allergic to direct sunlight. No matter; there were always cheap restaurants in those areas, places with bad lighting and watery beer. Just the kind of place to sit and wait for sunset.

We seated ourselves at a shadowy table between the door and a large window. Farfarello remained tense, but I didn't expect any trouble just yet. If we were being watched, they would certainly want to know what the hell we were up to before making any kind of contact. I smiled, feeling rather nasty: they were already following Brad's script, and I hadn't even done anything yet.

Only after the waitress had dropped off our late lunch did we start talking, and that in the mental realm. :So: Far asked, his eye regarding me coolly.

:There's a facility in Berlin, I'm not exactly sure where it is but I know I can find it. It's where they train their officers and medics. Not the healers, I'm talking real doctors here.: I sipped my beer; it was nasty and almost flat. Nothing like the Japanese pilsner I'd grudging come to appreciate, and nothing like a real German brew. I almost wondered if it were an American import. :They won't have a lot of older students.: My head started to hurt; I did my best to ignore it. :They get the younger kids, train them to a point and then send them out to other facilities. Unless they're getting the medical course.:

:And you know this how: Far continued staring at me, and I realized he was honestly curious. We'd never talked much about our pasts, we men of Schwarz, and generally took it for granted that we all had shadows.

That damn headache pulsed in my forehead. I rubbed at it with a scowl. Damn, I thought I'd left that behind on the Tokyo Express. Guess it went deeper than I knew. :I was there. Briefly. About six months, I think. I'm not sure anymore. Someone had high hopes for me, and I dashed those all to shit. I didn't want to end up a jackbooted thug marching under anyone's banner. So I ended up at Rosenkreuz. My prize for escaping Berlin.:

Farfarello regarded his beer with a frown. :So…now we're hunting children:

I blinked. I hadn't really thought about that. :No, not exactly: I told him, increasingly uncomfortable. :We're not hunting them, we just want them to get a little nervous. I don't know exactly what Brad has in mind, but he did say to get noticed, to make them wonder what we're up to.:

:Ah, that's right.: Far nodded to himself, a slight smile on his lips.

For some reason, his reaction bothered me. :What do you mean, 'that's right':

:Crawford didn't tell you much, did he.:

:No. He never does.: I finished my beer in distaste.

:So you're wondering what we're up to, too. That's bound to cause confusion.:

:Ha ha. Let's go.: I got up and headed for the door. Something about staying still too long was making me twitchy.

We spent a couple of hours ambling around my old stomping ground, and I debated telling Far more. A vague sense of shame kept me from doing this. I'd been fifteen, for God's sake. Fifteen, and desperate. A telepath on the run from Rosenkreuz, with no idea how far they would go to get him back. Ah, hell.

:Are you all right, Pretty:

:Yeah.:

:What kind of contacts are you looking for here:

I stopped and looked around. Familiar doorways and fire escapes seemed to call me back, inviting me to give it one more try here. I heaved a sigh and glanced sidelong at Far. :Never mind. They're probably dead by now anyway.:

My teammate rested a warm, calloused hand on my arm and looked into my eyes. :Schu, you don't have to think that I don't know you. Never make that mistake. I know you better than you do.:

:It's probably enough that we were even here: I told him, trying to change the subject.

:Sure, it probably is.: He did not release his grip, or his gaze. :Who are you really looking for:

:Stop it: I snarled. :Don't ask me that.:

Far turned and started walking away, his steps slow. :Fine. Then I'll see about our mission, while you go on torturing yourself. I'll find you later.:

My indecision lasted only a moment before I was hurrying to catch up with him. Who _was_ I looking for? Was it an old friend? An old john? Ghosts, lost in the past of a life I wasn't allowed to live. One thing I knew for certain: if I found my own ghost here, I would destroy it. I wasn't Berlin anymore.

I was Schwarz.

And I had work to do. I sought out a tall office building that was still open, and we rode the elevator to the highest floor. From there, we could look down at all of Berlin, the lights of evening painting the outline of city blocks and intersections, the absence of light painting parts of the business district and outlying rural areas. I felt a chill down my neck as I looked to the northwest, and taking out my new binoculars I trained them on that horizon.

The chill intensified to a shudder as I made out a small campus where there should be none, dotted with discrete lights that gave a false outline to the buildings. It looked like a small business complex, or a private college, but I knew better. I studied the darker lines, the ones partially masked by the lighting. The place was huge.

:Found it.: I handed Far the binoculars.

He frowned at them, then decided that the left lens actually worked better for him. He peered through it for a few moments. :When:

:It'll take a little while to get there. We could stay here tonight and head out tomorrow.:

:I'm not sleeping with you, Schuldig. Don't even get your hopes up. Or anything else.: He glanced at me and added:I know how you get when there's a whiff of danger. Some things never change.:

:Yeah, whatever: I grumbled. Until he'd called me on it, I hadn't realized that he was right. The situation had me excited, in more ways than one. :Let's get going, then. I'm not tired.:

Again, the ease of catching a wayward motorist appalled me. Either normals were getting weaker, or I was getting stronger. Shortly after midnight Far and I were on top of a hill overlooking the Berlin training facility. We lay on our bellies, surveying our target. Rather than sharing the binoculars, which I knew Far found difficult to use, the Irishman unpacked a small telescope and now watched the perimeter for movement while I studied the facility proper.

They certainly didn't seem to know we were there. Young uniformed Esset drones marched on their rounds, never seeing the threat beyond their gates. Far's earlier question echoed in my mind: would we be hunting these kids on Brad's orders? For damn sure they'd be hunting us, if they only knew. But still, they were only kids. I'd been twelve…

:Ah, fuck.: The headache blasted back into life, and with it the unpleasant feeling that we were being watched. :They've marked us.:

:Good: Far replied with a cold grin. He folded his telescope and strapped it to his leg, then unsheathed a long dagger, careful not to let it glint in the faint moonlight.

:We're not here to fight, Far. Remember? We want them nervous, not dead.:

From below, I heard the unmistakable sounds of shouted orders and the baying of dogs. Far and I exchanged a look; in spite of the situation, Far's lip curved in a laugh. :You know, I fucking hate guard dogs.:

:Come on, let's get out of here. I think they're nervous enough.: I dug in my pockets and pulled out a half-smoked cigarette. Funny how inspiring Brad's paranoia could be. I grinned to myself. _This should create a stir,_ I thought as I dropped it and ground it into the hillside.

As we made our way back down the hill, a small squad of three appeared before us. One of the boys held four snarling dogs on very short chains.

I braced myself, but rather than attack immediately the dog handler demanded that we tell them who we were and what we were doing there. I cautiously probed his mind.

:They have no idea who we are: I sent to Far, incredulous. :Esset hasn't told them:

* * *

**A/N:**

_Stop staring at me like a bird of prey  
I'm all mixed up, I got nothing to say _

Peter Gabriel is one of Farfarello's favorites, intellectual and angsty. In Far's company, "I Don't Remember" from _Melt_ is Schuldig's reply to the ghosts of Berlin.

Side note:

"I fucking hate guard dogs." – Yes, it's The Mole from "South Park the Movie – Bigger, Longer, Uncut". Now all we need is for Schu to make a sound like a dying giraffe…

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Narijima_** – Glad to see you're still reading! I'd hate to lose ya.

I'm glad you liked the train scene. I like getting into Schuldig's head, and that scene really wrote itself.

**_DSC_** – I hope your exams go/went well.

Hmm, which beloved character might that be?

I thank you for your words of high praise. I hope that all my readers feel satisfied at journey's end, whether they're smiling through a wad of Kleenex or crying in the sunshine. Life is like that, really – it's rarely just happiness or sorrow. They travel together.

**_Kit_** – LOL! I couldn't have said it better myself!

**Mistress of Anime** – Splitting the team is going to be stressful for everyone, but necessary at this point. Hang tight, it's for a good cause.

As for Gothboi!Nagi…if you can talk him into it… I think it bothered him how cute he looked, actually. Cute would annoy Nagi, I suspect – he's not perky, you know. (And he doesn't want to be.)

**_Daiyaonna_** – Wow, thanks! I'm so glad you like the interaction between folks in my little world. Yohji is kind of special to me – I'm a fan of the "Law and Order" TV shows and they remind me of him, being a detective and all. He's sort of worked his way into my heart, too.

**_Fayra_** – FFNet has been glitchy lately. If you (or anyone else) can't find my stuff, I've got it posted on my own web page too (the address should be in my Author Info; if not, come in through HopeForlorn). You can even send me reviews through email there, and I reply to those too.

(ch 55) Not that he wouldn't love to have them both…at the same time… But apparently Yohji isn't into groups.

(ch 56) I'm glad you remembered. I promise, the answer is very interesting and highly illuminating. I can't, however, promise whether Far will actually say anything useful about it…

Sorry for Rosenkreuz? You get the genki prize! I don't think even puppy-type characters can manage that one with a straight face!

**_May_** – Ooh, I surprised you! I love when that happens.

**_Lestat_** – If Schu doesn't give Esset hell, Far will take them there personally.

**_Maya-slash_** – 15 hours non-stop? I'm flattered! Hmm, should I say or shouldn't I? It'll all come out in "Standing Outside the Fire", which I'll be starting to post within the next week or so. Let me just say this: he's always been claustrophobic, and during one of his darkest moments Esset used it against him. It's not the phobia but the dark moment he's looking to avenge.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Brad has taken a very long time indeed to enact his plans. Right now, let's just say that Schu and Farf need the "growth time" before Brad is ready for them to come back. And, yes, any 'point' having to do with Farfarello will not be a pretty one.

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – As for what's going on in Brad's head…the long-awaited (humor me on this one!) Brad Crawford side story is going to be posted very very soon now! All will be explained…

**_Shadowgirl_** – You know, some things are more useful when split: logs, bananas, atoms…

As for hitting the snooze alarm of a Farfie-clock, have you seen this little chibi cartoon strip (it's in German) where Schu is trying to get Farf to say "ouch"? Heh heh heh.

**_Arileo_** – Just wait until they start comparing orders…

**_Yanagi-sen_** – Hmm, it was never my intention to damage someone's sanity…(pausing to push glasses up and smirk menacingly before Brad snatches his glasses back and banishes me from the room…)

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – Um, did this count as bonding time? Fret not, Farfie-fan, I have plans for those two.

**_Delfeus_** – (ch 55) Thank you! I look forward to writing more!


	58. 58

**58**

_alles schwarz - wenn das Orakel spricht…_

"Halt, wer da?" the dog handler repeated, his tone between fear and anger. The dogs echoed his mood, snarling and cringing at the ends of their leads.

I suddenly understood what Brad had meant about chaos – we had to do this right. :Far, no killing: I nearly shouted into his mind. Then I turned my attention back to our young patrol squad, one of whom had just pulled out a cell phone and the other, a pistol. I smiled and took a breath like I was about to speak, then locked onto the guy with the phone, sinking into his consciousness and pulling the plug. He crumpled into a heap, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his nose.

The kid with the gun couldn't have been more than fifteen. He watched his buddy drop, then stared wide-eyed at me as though he'd just realized what was happening. I took him down just as easily; neither had been a telepath, and that made it fairly simple.

The kid with the dogs was two heartbeats away from releasing them when I grabbed his mind.

"You have two choices," I murmured to the youth as I approached him. "You can fight and die, or you can tell me something useful and we'll go." I forced him to remain still, not allowing him to command the dogs to attack. It wasn't as easy as I'd expected. This kid was different – I encountered resistance almost immediately. No matter. We were on a time limit now. I pushed harder, ignoring the pain in my head.

"Nein," the boy whispered, his eyes wild. Foam appeared on his lips, and for a moment I thought he was having a seizure. His hands clenched on the leashes as his whole body seemed to lock up. Then his legs buckled and he sagged groundward, the dogs whining in distress but making no effort to break free.

Was he talking to them? Commanding the brutes telepathically? I'd heard of such things, but I'd never known a 'path who could actually do it.

From somewhere on his person, Far produced a long-bladed knife and advanced on the dog handler. Our prisoner stared at the knife gleaming dully in the semi-darkness. "Bitte," the boy moaned, "tun Sie den Hunden nichts!"

The kid's dialect reminded me of my own, crisp and brittle. I gestured at Far to stay put a moment, then addressed the dog handler. "Sag mal 'setz'."

The kid murmured something I couldn't hear, and the dogs sat, though they were still extremely agitated. One drooled and shivered, watching me with blood-rimmed eyes.

Moving slowly, I approached until I was within reach of their jaws. The dogs did not move, though they did whine and snarl. The boy seemed on the verge of tears, and from the way one of the dogs was sniffing, I suspected he'd wet himself.

Good. These kids had no clue, because Esset didn't want them to know they had a rogue team on the loose. Well, that would never do. They'd be the first ranks sacrificed, in ignorance, and that made them our best allies, in a weird, backward kind of way.

I reached down and rested my hand on youth's fine blond hair; he couldn't have been more than sixteen. The dogs whimpered and watched, unable to disobey their master. The one that had been drooling squatted and pissed on my shoes. No matter. I had a message to deliver, and this unfortunate young officer would be my carrier.

He wore a hefty key ring at his belt. I pointed and asked him what the keys were for. He told me they were keys to the kennels, and again pleaded with us to spare his dogs. Now tears did flow, not from fear for his own life but for the dogs, so faithful they would sit and watch him die if he told them to.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead, using his confusion to slip words into his mind. :Schwarz lives. If you do not know what that means, it is because your masters did not tell you. Never forget it.: This last I emphasized with a push, and the boy gasped, eyes wide and glassy.

"Ataeru daroo kizu," Far said, his tone laughing.

What the…? My head was wired for German at the moment, not fucking Japanese! "Right," I muttered, then pushed a little harder into the kid's mind. :Sleep, now. You've done all you could, but we were stronger. Much stronger. If we wanted to slaughter your compatriots in their sleep, you could never stop us. Remember.:

As the boy lapsed into unconsciousness, his hands started to relax. The dogs turned and sniffed at him, seemingly confused at their master's silence. Two nuzzled his face as if trying to wake him up.

"Move away slowly," Far told me, striding forward while the dogs were distracted. "I'll take care of these."

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I had my own concerns at the moment. I could hear other people approaching. Apparently the attempted phone call had gotten someone's attention, and now they were looking for their missing patrol. On top of that, I was getting a vicious headache. We had to move out while I could still make decent time.

Farfarello grasped the chains as they fell from the boys hands. With a stranger's touch on their leads, the dogs snarled and turned, apparently deciding for themselves that their master's order was bullshit. The red-eyed bitch lunged first, thick ropy saliva hanging from her open maw.

Far turned to meet her chest with his elbow, knocking her out of the air. He then knelt to plunge his knife through all four chains and deep into the dirt at the handler's feet.

The dogs couldn't attack without fouling each other's movements, and they couldn't break free without trampling their master. In the momentary confusion, Farfarello leaped clear.

He regarded me sharply with that one sparkling eye, then nodded and said, "Let's go. We need a safe place to talk."

I frowned at him even as I stumbled after him down the hill. :Talk? What do you mean, talk:

Far paused. :You were surprised when you found out those kids were clueless.:

:Yeah? So:

:Crawford told me you would have an unpleasant surprise in Germany. I think that counts. Now that you've had your surprise, we have to talk.:

* * *

**A/N:**

_alles schwarz - wenn das Orakel spricht… _

The song could be their team anthem: "Schwarz," by Die Prinzen from their _Schweine_ album. (My song choice was inspired by an anime music video by Staces – thank you and bless you for your art! I had to buy the CD for that one song!) This line translates as "all black – when the Oracle speaks." By chapter's end, its meaning will begin to make itself known, to the reader and to Schuldig.

A note about The Language Thing –

I know how annoying it can be when a writer tries to throw in a bit of foreign language for atmosphere and botches it all to hell. I promise not to go overboard – that would annoy even me.

I used to be pretty good at German, but I'm relying on all my instincts and some online translators at the moment; I'm trying to pick it up again, but it's been decades! Wish me luck, and if I screw up, be gentle. Oh, and for the curious and precise, Schuldig speaks in a "hard ch" dialect, as opposed to the "soft ch" or "sh" dialects. In other words, when he says "ich (I)", he says it like "ick" rather than "ish" or anything in between. It gives some indication of where he may have been raised.

As for the Japanese…until I can get synchronized with a volunteer or find the perfect online Romaji/English engine, I'm going with basic logic and a Romaji/Kana/English dictionary about three inches thick. For this bit, however, any errors are happy ones: I tripped over a punnish similarity between the Romaji for "scar" and the English "kiss", and I basically just went there. It's all nicely written off as Farfarello knowing that Schuldig didn't learn Japanese so much as pick it up by osmosis, so he uses a sort of simplified pidgin-Japanese when speaking to his lesser educated teammate.

Translation notes –

"Halt, wer da?" – (military usage) Halt, who goes there?THANK YOU KARI-CHAN for pointing out this needed help! I hope this one is better.

"Bitte, tun Sie den Hunden nichts!" – Please, don't harm the dogs! THANK YOU AQUILA for your help in translation!

"Sag mal 'setz'." – Say 'sit'. (No polite mincing of words for Schu now, he's got mad dogs to deal with.)AGAIN, THANK YOU KARI-CHAN – I actually found a German dog-training site with the standard commands! Who would have thunk it?

_ "Ataeru daroo kizu."_ – Far teases that Schuldig's kiss will most likely scar the boy for life. (literally: "give/cause – may/will probably - a scar")

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

(ducking from darts, bullets, knives, etc.) I know it's a shorter chapter, but the next one will be fairly long and I MIGHT be ready to post it early – turn on your author alerts!

**_CanIsay_** – Wow, hi! I'm glad you're on the bandwagon. Hope my driving doesn't scare you. Much.

The Yohji/Schu/Brad dynamic is far from resolved. Each man is far too messed up – er, complex, to have a simple relationship.

**_Bladderwrack_** – Whoa, three reviews at once! I'm tickled! (42) Yeah, disturbing and hilarious. And so totally Farf. (47) Thank you, and I love your comment "The tragicomic absurdity of precognitive metaphysics." It sums everything up so very well. (53) Speechless, eh? Oh, and it's spelled "yaoiness"… heh heh heh.

**_Fayra Lee_** – In my world, Kapitel-Schuldig was basically psychotic from having the weight of all of Japan in his head. That, and getting brained with a golf club…

Fear not, Brad will be back. He's too much of a control freak to leave Schu and Far alone too long. And many things will be explained between all the stories of this arc. Also, I'm going to be discussing my character development in my live journal – I'll let everyone know when that's ready.

**_Eboni – _**Wow, thank you! All I ever wanted was to create a story that made the readers ache for the plight of the characters, and it makes my soul fly to know I'm actually doing it.

**_Daiyaonna – _**Well, if ya do have to resort to e-mail, fear not – I reply to those as well.

One time I had a high fever and my air conditioner sang to me in some foreign language. I know I took comfort from it.

As for where I get my inspiration, I hope to do some blogging on that this weekend – I don't have to work! (yay!) So keep an eye on my live journal (the address is in my profile). And check out my soundtracks for the story – like "Batman", there's a serious score and a popular music score. I'm trying to share my musical inspiration, sort of like posting a music sampler to get people hooked on the music I love to write to.

**_Star Princess Meesa – _**No, no – that's BONDAGE, not BONDING! Oh, wait, that's right – Schu had to leave all those toys behind in Tokyo…

**_Shadowgirl – _**Okay, you really need to stop reading my mind…it's getting hentai. (BTW, Spanish is structurally similar to Portuguese, isn't it? Just me being random…)

I'll see if I can track that comic down for you. (It's not posted at HopeForlorn because they couldn't contact the creator for permission.)

The term "john" refers to a, er, "client", sometimes a one-nighter but often a repeat customer, if you get my meaning. I'm not falling into cliché land, but my Schu has been around a bit. More on that when I do my Character Development blog – I'll let you know when to look for it.

And, LOL – Mr. Burns! Can you imagine Brad doing that finger thing? (bursts into wild laughter)

You know, I think Farf and the Mole share the same opinion on a lot of things…

**_DSC – _**Whooo, review #300! (tosses confetti and that sparkly stuff from the opening credits of Kapitel)

You're so right about their precarious positions, and also right about what would happen if my narrator died.

Then again, this story will at some point converge with "Rain" (Gluhen!Nagi is working with Weiß, you know), so I could decide I don't need so many narrators…

(This moment brought to you by the Rosenkreuz Night School for Evil Authors.)

**_May – _**Ever see "Silence of the Lambs"? It's the reasonable ones you have to watch out for!

**_Tysoyo Kalli – _**Oh, Crawford's ideas rarely backfire. If they do, it's because he wants to see the flash. Twisted, indeed!

**_Lestat – _**Very foolish of Esset, indeed. They're very picky about handing out information, especially the sensitive, important stuff. Pity for them, eh?

**_EternalDarkness –_** Farf will say more, for every oracle needs someone to spread the word, right? And fear not, there will be a Brad/Schu reunion in the not-too-distant future. Remember, Crawford is doing this for a reason; as soon as that reason is fulfilled, Schuldig will know where to find him, and Brad will be waiting.

**_MikaSamu –_** Thank you. To me, Far himself is a mix of angst, suspense, and humor.

**_Kit – _**Isn't the Chinese symbol for chaos made up of "danger" and "possibility"?

Adorably scary, huh? What do you think of them now? Heh heh heh…

* * *

_Slight side-note:_

For anyone who may be interested, they are running a fascinating contest on the hopeforlorn website. The rules are that you are to make up a story based on a picture of Weiss or Schwarz that is provided to you. I may enter, unless time constraints get to me. I do have three or four stories in the works already, can I manage a contest too? Hey, it's only a thousand words, right? Oo;;


	59. 59

**59**

_spürst du diese Macht!_

:What the fuck? Far, what's going on: I gritted my teeth against the swelling headache, but I had to know.

Farfarello picked a course like a demented elf, moving through the hills and woods as though he had lived there all his life. This was giving me a bad sense of déjà vu – my shoulder ached in nostalgia as I recalled my own mad flight through the urban woodlands of the Takatori Plaza.

:Patience, Pretty. All will be explained. Or, at least as much of it as I have for you.:

Bloody hell.

I was so disgruntled I nearly clotheslined myself on Far's outflung arm. Backpedaling to catch my balance, I looked up to see we'd arrived at a road. The asphalt gleamed like a black snake in the faint starlight; there were no streetlamps.

Clinging to the edge of cover, we followed the street; I risked a brief scan to check for nearby motorists. I found one, but I didn't enjoy the experience: a returning flash of telepathy nearly knocked me off my feet.

"Scheiße!" I snarled under my breath, clutching at Farfarello's hip as I stumbled.

Solid as Stonehenge, he only paused, waiting for me to regain control.

The biker surely had a trace on me now; I couldn't let him go. We could just hear the roar of the motor now. I held onto Far and reached out with my mind.

This wasn't easy. Either I was tired, which I was, or he was very strong, and well-trained. Which he probably was as well. I could taste blood at the back of my throat, and my eyes burned. But I refused to let go. Distantly I became aware of the sound of downshifting, and the muted grumble of an idling motor.

:Park the bike. Do not turn it off.:

He fought me, but I was stronger. I felt Farfarello slip out of my grasp, no doubt intending to finish my battle for me. Sudden pain and fear confirmed this. Through the mindlink of combat I could hear Farfarello whisper in the man's ear: "Los ihn lass." I shivered – when the madman turned a language to singsong, murder was never far behind.

The mental struggle ended with a sigh as the biker withdrew, a last glimmer of hope trailing behind in my thoughts. I knew without watching what would happen next: he would turn his talent on Far, and Far would turn his knives on the biker.

A soft snap caught my flagging awareness. I glanced up. Farfarello lowered the limp body to the ground. The man's head hung at a disturbing angle, weighed down by his helmet and bobbing slightly from the movement.

Far quickly and efficiently searched the body, then removed the helmet and handed it to me. Not waiting, he straddled the bike and studied the controls. Apparently it was familiar to him; he looked over at me and said, "Get on."

I started to toss the helmet aside, but Far growled, "And cover that damn hair! You're visible in the dark, worse than I am."

I sighed but did as he told me, then climbed onto the bike behind him. I hadn't done this often, but I understood the concept: hold on, and lean with the curves. Grumbling, I wrapped my arms around Far's muscular middle. With the helmet on, anyone who saw us go past would presume I was his bitch.

Ah, well. Been there done that. I grinned to myself as Far turned onto the road and opened the throttle. The wind roared around us as we sped through the night.

:Um, Far:

:What, Schu:

I really didn't want the answer to this, but it was bothering me. :How's your depth perception:

I could feel his laughter through his chest. :You're such an uke. Scared of a little thing like that.:

:That's not funny.: Instead of pursuing the question, I huddled closer against his back. If we crashed, I wanted to be as close to Mr. Indestructible as possible.

"Hey, we're here."

I blinked at Farfarello, dimly aware that I'd been dozing. Damn, those kids must have worn me out more than I knew! I never used to get this tired. Then again, I hadn't really had to do much with my telepathy since the tower, not like I'd done tonight, and telepathy is most definitely the sort of thing one needs to keep well toned. Apparently I'd gotten lazy.

The bike was parked in front of a shabby-looking hotel, the sort of place rented by the hour. The horizon showed the first light of dawn, and I realized we'd been driving all night. "Where are we, exactly?" I murmured, stretching and looking around.

"Someplace safe enough, I should think. Can you do your thing with the desk clerk?"

"Yeah, no sweat." I scanned the office and found the clerk, hunched over an early breakfast. With soft mental touches I told him to get a room key out and lay it on the counter. "Let's go," I told Far and headed inside.

The clerk did not see us as we hurried through the lobby, grabbed the key and made for the stairs. My first impression of the place seemed accurate enough; it even smelled like a bad alleyway. But I trusted Farfarello to have gotten us out of the search zone, so here we would stay, at least until one of us could drive.

The room was amazingly clean, all things considered. I hauled the covers off the bed – those were usually the nastiest, being harder to clean than mere sheets, and I didn't want to take any chances. Fatigue rolled over me, heavy and warm, and I flopped down on the bed.

Above me, Far chuckled. "Figures."

"What?"

"You finally get at what you've been wanting, and you'd rather sleep."

"You said you wouldn't trespass," I grumbled, not liking the fact that he was pretty much right about the sleep thing.

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about Crawford."

I sat bolt upright and stared at him. _("Crawford told me you would have an unpleasant surprise in Germany…")_ "Shit. Okay, so talk."

Far sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. "What did you think of the officer's school?"

"Then or now?"

"Now. Both, actually, but now's relevant."

"They weren't told about us. Crawford's convinced we're being hunted, and I've felt it myself, not to mention actually being chased and shot at," I growled. "But this place, these kids are" _(you will make us so proud…)_ "the chosen elite," I gagged out, pain lancing through my head again. "They're the future leaders of the organization, trained to be the" _(shepherds of humanity)_ "men above the supermen." Damn it, why couldn't I either remember or banish every last scrap of that shit? Why did it have to haunt me in pieces?

"What do you suppose that might mean?" Far asked, his tone very neutral, his eye staring at the ceiling.

The little hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. What did it mean? "They don't think we're much of a threat," I whispered. "They think they'll catch us and that'll be the end of it." I gripped Far's arm and hissed, "Why do I get the feeling that Brad knows better?"

Farfarello turned his head to regard me with that wild golden eye. "Because he does. Now I can talk to you. I had to get your opinion first, while it was fresh. He said it would be crucial to know what you saw tonight, without your head getting in the way of it."

Played. I'd been played, again, by the puppetmaster. I felt myself wilt, hanging somewhere between exhaustion and despair. Did that man do nothing without an ulterior motive? "Tell me."

"I can only give you so much," Far cautioned. "Crawford knows you've got problems with your gift. He can't afford anything to leak out, or get stolen. That's why he's given it to me. It's a rare telepath who's willing to come into my head uninvited."

"How long?"

"Since the start. Since Takatori. You know he can't tell you his visions, or you'll act on them and change the future," Farfarello explained gently. "But me… Tell a madman, and if he acts on it or no, it's pretty much random anyway. His secrets are safest with me, and he's used that to good advantage for some time. That's how I knew to be ready, the night that Weiß came for Reiji. That's how I knew many things."

I let out a heavy sigh. On some level, this didn't even surprise me. "So basically, you've been his second."

"Never that," Far corrected smoothly. "I've been the failsafe. Now, do you want to listen, or do you want to whine? I have my orders, I just need your cooperation."

At my nod, Farfarello stretched out on the bed and began to talk, his voice low. Sometimes he spoke in Japanese, sometimes French, and some phrases came out in a unique creole of Gaelic and American slang. Never German. And what he said cut through me like a dull razor, shallow and bitter.

"Your guess about the hunt is wrong. They haven't dismissed a damn thing about us. In fact, Crawford believes that they have activated the Omega squads. You've heard of those, I take it?"

Omega squads. The elite hunters sent after the highest level of targets. This was bad.

"He figures we're rated at least a Hazard Five, if not higher. You do know that Nagi has always been a Three or a Four, depending on who you're asking?"

I knew a little about the Hazard levels, but that was mostly the province of Team Leaders and higher. My own security level hadn't graced me with such interesting details; I'd had to pick it up by osmosis. I did know that psi-talents were rated according to how great a threat they might become to Esset, and the rating system only officially went up to five.

"Whether they think we took power from the Elders or not, they think we're stronger than those three ever were, and they want us back. Not necessarily dead, but rendered harmless. That much we already knew." Far paused to look at me, then said, "Now you tell me what we just learned."

He wasn't being snotty or condescending. Far had learned long ago that feeding me information didn't often help. I had to be prompted to really figure it out. Flat data had a way of sliding out of my head along with all the useless crap a telepath accumulates throughout the average day. So I thought about what he'd told me. I thought about it hard.

What makes a team a Hazard Five? Having someone like Nagi, and being led by someone like Crawford, of course. But what could possibly rate us off the scale?

Why didn't the young officers at Berlin recognize us? Surely our mug shots were posted in all the Esset lunchrooms.

Or were they? Comprehension came with one word. "Revolution," I whispered. "They're afraid that we're going to come back and lead their puppets in an uprising." I stared at Farfarello, dumbfounded. "They think we could do it."

"And Brad Crawford," Far murmured back, "wants them to."

"Will he? I mean, does he have plans to–?"

"That I don't know. If he does, he hasn't told me. Only that he wants it to look that way."

Schwarz, leading an army of disgruntled Esset ops – what an image! "But, why? To what end, Far? What do they think we want to do to them, and what does he really want?"

"Surely they think we want to usurp them, take over Esset and by proxy the world. What Crawford wants…" His voice faded out. He lay there staring up at the grimy ceiling, then closed his eye. Far's next word came out no louder than breath: "Retribution."

* * *

**A/N:**

_spürst du diese Macht! _

Same song, different verse: "do you feel this power!" Crawford has exerted a great deal of power over his own team, power that Schuldig had not noticed before. Farfarello's (dare I say it) revelations have had quite the impact on our dear redhead.

_Medical note –_

Accurate depth perception usually requires stereo vision…

Translation notes –

_"Los ihn lass."_ – Far commands the biker to release his telepathic hold. (broken form – "loslass" is the imperative "release/let go", "ihn" is "him", but normally it wouldn't be phrased quite this way. Many schizophrenics have a fascination with sing-song rhythms and unexpected word order, and Far seems to be playing along with that diagnosis at the moment.)

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**Review Mailbag:**

**_Fayra_** – Kind of like a Cooper Mini, the chapter had to be little to change direction so fast.

I love the AMV Staces did with "Schwarz". That's how I discovered the song for my own nefarious uses.

(Which flavor of Portuguese – Brazilian or European?)****

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**_Daiyaonna_** – Just to toss out a random comment here, but one of my inspirations for Calm!Farfarello is Hannibal Lecter…****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – That's the thing about Brad giving Farfarello vague orders: it's up to a madman to decide if a precog's vision has come true yet. Gives "chaos theory" a whole new twist, doesn't it?****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – Thank you, I'm trying to get the language stuff right. And don't worry, "To Those About to Die" takes place about 8 years down the road – we won't be losing too many of the characters before then (heh heh heh – you can join DSC in the paranoia room, if you like).****

**_Skippys Cat_** – LOL, that must have been quite the marathon reading binge you've been on if your 3-day log-in expired in the middle of it!

Thank you for your wonderful reviews. It's good to know that I'm on-target with the characters, and the pacing is working.

Yes, there is a lot of foreshadowing. As for how it will end, I can only assure you that it will be poetic and fitting for all.

This fic is part of a five-story arc, you can find them all here or at my website. There will be spoilers/hints/clues scattered among the tales, but whether the characters ever put them together remains to be seen.

If I get it right, by the end of the arc you'll have this satisfied feeling of "I KNEW IT!" without exactly guessing the ending, kind of the way I felt when I finished reading "Prisoner of Azkaban".

(ch 25) Yes, Farf knows much more than he says. It was true in chapter 25, it's still true in chapter 60.

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**_Narijima_** – It's cool that you're reading to such depth. I love writing the details, and I'm glad you're enjoying them.

Thank you, I know enough about Japanese to know that a dictionary ain't gonna help me much! I'll put you on my volunteer translator list.****

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**_Terry_** – I love your comment about Far – the fallen angel. Very evocative, and so very true to my vision of him.

If you ever get the chance to see "Weiss Kreuz Gluhen", you'll recognize the big guy with the pierced lip and the firebug with blue hair from "To Those About to Die".

I am deeply honored to hear that I have made my Weiß world so real.

(And you can rest assured that their voices don't sound nearly as dorky in my imagination as their voice actors made them out to be...)****

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**_Lestat_** – Egad, you sounded like Crawford, there! (The "mwahahaha", not the puppy thing…)****

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**_Arileo_** – LOL! Ain't he, though?****

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**_DSC_** – Fear not, his fate is already written and folded up in a little piece of paper somewhere on my desk…

Oh, as for increasing your morbid paranoia, I aim to please.

And if you think this chapter had interesting elements, just you wait... Schu and Far, alone, unsupervised…****

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**_Eternal-Darkness_** – I'm getting rather fond of their "sleepy" song, myself. I probably need to get more than five hours a night…****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – Thank you for the shield, though it seems your gallantry was unneeded. (looking around, making sure everyone's happy)

Schu rubbing off on you? Hmm…

LOL, I tried to get back into Spanish in college, but after three years of German I couldn't even manage the alphabet!****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Whoa, I love it when you get so excited you write in French!

Happy belated birthday! throws more of Aya's sparkly stuff

I'm glad you like the language stuff. I was hoping it would add a little texture without being overwhelming. Me so happy that it worked! (Um, that was verging on a JarJar Binks moment…I think I just scared myself!)

Cool, another story to have you hooked on! More of Brad's story is on the way.


	60. 60

**60**

_like Orpheus with hope entangled  
__your path was mapped about your feet  
__leading backwards into forgiveness  
__or forward to a fools retreat_

Someone was shaking me awake. I muttered and blinked. The room was dark, disorienting, and smelly. For a moment my mind screamed in panic, then I remembered where I was. Thunder rumbled the window glass, explaining the midday darkness.

"We have to go," Farfarello whispered, half hauling me out of the bed. "We have to go now."

My groggy brain startled to alertness. Rather than ask unneeded and stupid questions, I pulled on my shoes and grabbed my gear.

Far neatly and quickly pried the window out of its casing, and I swallowed down a complaint. We were on the second floor, it was raining, and we were going out the window. Correction, we were going out half the window – Far had turned the window frame rather than take it out entirely, so that we could put it back in place from the outside. No matter that we'd have to hang onto the building to do this. Hopefully the Irishman was tacitly volunteering for that job.

I started to neaten the room when Far hissed, "No time!" Already he was straddling the window casing and sliding through. I sprinted to the window and followed him out. Farfarello clung to the window ledge while I scrambled through, then he swung the window frame back into place with a gentle push.

The drop wasn't too bad, but my knees bitched anyway. Backs and knees – they say if you get hurt there once, it keeps coming back. I grumbled at myself as Far dropped effortlessly to the ground. He gestured at me for silence, then signaled not to use my telepathy, either. I frowned, but nodded. Slowly, letting the storm cover us, Far led us to the back parking lot. He looked around, then pointed at a Mercedes. The hood showed beads of water and runoff, but no puddling: this car was still warm.

The temptation to steal their vehicle only lasted a second. Then Far was picking his way into the woods behind the hotel, and I followed.

This wasn't really a woods, I realized, so much as an urban oasis. Thirty meters through and we reached another road. My heart pounded with unspent adrenalin. As if he could smell this, Far grinned and sprinted across the road. I followed, feeling absurdly like this was a game of tag.

We followed that road, getting more and more drenched as we walked. My mood turned from energized to sullen. It didn't help that my knees hadn't stopped complaining yet, and now I was engaged in a forced march with Farfarello.

A pair of headlights gleamed out of the rain. With a wild leer, Far launched himself in front of the car.

I watched, helpless, as the little white coupe hydroplaned and slid sideways toward my friend. But Farfarello met it like a rodeo cowboy, leaping to the hood and clinging to the chrome with no fear.

The driver was another story: even with my shields up, I could feel the panic and terror lancing through her mind. Oh, great – we'd just waylaid an innocent woman. She probably thought we were going to rape her and kill her, possibly in that order.

Farfarello hauled the door open and grabbed the driver. "You're walking," he growled in rough German. "Hotel, that way, not far. Tell them your car is blue."

Cautiously I pushed the suggestions home. The woman stood frozen a moment, then kicked off her shoes and started running.

I got in behind the wheel, and Far stretched out as best he could across the back seat. With only one of us visible, I turned the car around and drove back the way our good samaritan had come.

The adrenalin still buzzed in my veins, though the chill of the rain was starting to sink in. We needed a place to dry off, maybe even a change of clothes. I stopped at the next town, no longer sure where the hell we were.

With the road grime on Far's hands, we had a ready cover: car trouble, had to work on it in the rain. The shopkeeper told us there was a mechanic in town, and I fought to keep my smile civil. The temptation to smirk was damn near overwhelming.

We took a room at the local inn, dropped the car off at the mechanic's, and set about planning our next move. The inn had laundry facilities, bless their hearts, and we'd bought some spare clothes at the shop, so now all we had to do was think. If we had to leave before our clothes were dry, so be it.

I flopped on the bed, relieved to be warm and dry and just possibly two steps ahead of pursuit. The car was safely out of sight, so anyone who came looking would have to be very lucky to find us. Then again, I had to remind myself that if a fleet of telepaths came calling, they would very quickly find all the information they needed from the shopkeeper and the mechanic.

But Esset needed secrecy, and such tactics were usually a last recourse. Basically it all came down to how certain the hunters were that we were still in the area, and how badly they wanted us today.

A warm pressure on my leg reminded me that I wasn't alone. I glanced up at Farfarello, who had seated himself on the edge of the bed and rested one hand on my thigh. His smile cut through his scarred face, a feral and hungry sort of smile.

I smiled back. With Farfarello, danger begat sex. It didn't matter if he actually engaged in battle or just anticipated it: the energy was the same. I could smell the lingering adrenalin on his skin, a sharp undertone to his usual scent.

My smile became a leer as I remembered the many times we had ridden the wave of combat high all the way to the floor. Then I blurted out, "I thought you said you wouldn't trespass." I could have kicked myself for reminding him, but better to lose a tumble than to have an irate Farfarello on your hands.

He grinned and said, "That's true, I won't. Crawford told me to stay clear of you until you'd made up your mind. Have you, Pretty?"

Made up my mind? About what?

_Crawford told him?_

I frowned at him, the meaning of his words lost in the whirl inside my head.

"Have you picked one? I'm not to make it a field of three." Far's hand slid up between my legs, gripping me through the fleecy sweatpants. His touch was sure, not particularly gentle, and sorely missed. I arched up into his hand, and he chuckled. "Give me your answer?"

Gods, he was asking if I'd decided between Brad and Yohji! I couldn't deal with this right now – my mind was being devoured by Far's lust, echoed in my own flesh.

Then I realized he hadn't asked me to tell him my choice, but only that I'd made one.

Had I? Did I even know the answer myself? Hell, at least I knew for certain that Far wouldn't affect the outcome. "Yes," I gasped, "yes I have."

"You lie only to God," Far whispered.

I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but apparently my answer had been good enough. Clothes donned only minutes before now flew to the carpet. I was caught up in Farfarello's wildness, his rush, and my body ached. Not for the first time I wondered how he perceived his own need, not knowing the meaning of pain. Did he ache? His member stood tautly erect, and my own throbbed in sympathy. He didn't often indulge, with me or by himself; never had, really. But when he did, he held nothing back.

Far paused a moment, as still as a leopard, his body solid and hard-muscled, the skin mottled with scarring. He licked his lips, then pounced, pinning me to the bed. His fingers sought out my erection, tickling and teasing, giving me desperate sensations he probably couldn't comprehend. I groaned against his lips, amazingly soft lips, and he squeezed as he stroked.

A pulsing ache that was not pain flared through me, centered on my groin and radiating into every fibre of my body. Electric heat flowed through my entire nervous system, speeding my heart. I could feel myself panting in time with his breath. My hand closed around his cock and pumped it, hard and fast. He closed his good eye, his face a mask of pleasure frozen in its deepest need.

Then he shifted his hips and raised my legs, and he thrust into me in one stroke. His spine arched, his head falling backward, the tendons in his neck standing out and reminding me of everything that was Farfarello: tense, graceful, pale, and hard.

I wrapped my legs around his middle and pulled him into me, lost in his need, in my own, in the moment. My hand reached down to grip myself. His next thrust made me groan, made my hand move faster.

He fucked in silence, the only sound his increasingly harsh breath. We were each seeking only our own pleasure, using one another to attain it. That was the way it had always been, with Far, and that was all we ever needed: fast, hard, driven.

I felt myself approaching that horizon, the point where I knew I would come even if all sensation stopped. I slowed down, lingering there, not yet willing to give in. It had been too long since Far had shared of himself like this, I didn't want it to end yet.

Far growled, deep in his throat. As my fingertips brushed across the tip of my cock, I felt him come inside me, throbbing, pulsing, and I came too, helpless to stop it.

Farfarello folded himself over me, lifting my back a little and wrapping his arms around me. Every muscle in his body had tensed with his climax, and now began to relax, leaving behind a gentle warmth. I revelled in the heat of him.

Slowly my breathing took on its own rhythm, and Far slipped out of me. With a grateful smile, Far excused himself for the bathroom. Our encounter had taken maybe five minutes.

In the profound stillness he left behind, I found my thoughts drifting back over all he had told me. Unsettling stuff. Unsettling implications. I realized that I didn't know Brad's motives the way I'd thought I had, and that frightened me. It also hurt, on a very deep level.

Maybe that was why… No, I couldn't take the time to think about that right now. I had no idea when, or even if, I would ever go back there. I sighed at the ceiling. Damn it, why did Farfarello have to be so good at making me think?

The Irishman returned from the bathroom and began to dress.

"Far?" I propped myself up on an elbow and spoke quietly. "What else has Crawford told you?"

"Enough. Enough that I can't give you today, so don't bother asking."

"He's using me."

"He's using us all." Far sat on the bed again and caressed my cheek. "It's what he does. It's what they made him to do, and he's damn good at it. You know as well as I do, no matter what he's about, it's for his own reasons, and no other. That doesn't mean he can't watch out for his team, but he does it for himself, not for us." Far paused, a slight frown creasing his forehead; then he said, "Maybe for Nagi. But you and I are his soldiers. He needs us, and he builds his plans around us. If that isn't good enough for you, then maybe you do belong in Tokyo."

He knew. I hadn't even dared to think it, and he knew. "Far," I whispered, "I won't leave the team."

"I know you won't, Pretty. Question is, will the team have to leave you?" Rising from the bed, Far gestured at my clothes. "Come on, we have to go."

Great. First Nagi, now Farfarello, each telling me that Brad has hinted that I wouldn't be with the team much longer. Was this a test, some warped control thing that Brad concocted to see how loyal I was?

Or was it worse: a vision not yet come to pass?

Crawford was really starting to piss me off, and he wasn't even here to glare at. No, he was out with Nagi; for all I knew they could be vacationing at Disneyworld or spying on Esset's most secure facilities. Enjoying some leisure time, or taking the boy into the very mouth of the dragon.

And all I could do was wait.

"I'm not leaving the team," I growled. "Stop trying to push me."

"I'm not pushing."

"That was for Crawford."

Far raised an eyebrow. "Talking to people not present, and without using your gift, now that's a bad sign."

* * *

**A/N:**

_like Orpheus with hope entangled _

_your path was mapped about your feet _

_leading backwards into forgiveness _

_or forward to a fools retreat _

I can't stand it, I'm breaking my own rule now. The convention of only using quotes that were in existence at the time in the story worked for a while, but it's becoming cumbersome now, and actually detracting from my storytelling. So I'm raiding my collection with no regard for the publish date from here on out.

This quote is from "Cassandra" by CXS, from their outstanding _Ethernaut_ album. It's one of my favorites, and you can bet your butts that when Schu gets hold of it, it'll become one of his favorites as well. "Cassandra" always struck me as a very Farfarello song – it's got some very odd imagery in it, and seems to speak in riddles, rather like a one-eyed madman.

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**Review Mailbag:**

**_Lestat_** – Scary, ain't it?****

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**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Thank you! Oh, and will you settle for the Far/Schu action until we get the team back together?****

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**_May –_** I like writing the Schu & Far dynamic lots. They have a very…unusual relationship.****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – (ch 33) I'm glad you caught the twisty pun, that's exactly how I intended it.

(ch 59) Having a raving madman on a team like Schwarz seemed kind of contrived, the way the show presented them. There had to be something more to it than that, and I hope my vision of that "something more" satisfies.

You know, I'm still not convinced that soul thing is canon. I've heard too many arguments either way. In my world, Gluhen will be a little different – check out "To Those About to Die", it's short. grin****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – LOL! No kidding! Yes, Brad is playing it very cold, something his former handlers at Rosenkreuz would no doubt be quite proud of, if only he weren't playing on his own team…****

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**_Kari-chan_** – Hey, don't hide – you'll miss out on the popcorn. Thank you for watching my back. That's what the fanfic community is all about, ne?

I'll be posting a revised version of Chapter 58 to fix the dog handler's dialogue. I'm going for minimalism, now, and hopefully I've got it right this time. If not, be gentle.

However, the thing with Far in Chapter 59 is supposed to sound…wrong: _Through the mindlink of combat I could hear Farfarello whisper in the man's ear: "Los ihn lass." I shivered – when the madman turned a language to singsong, murder was never far behind._ That one was for effect, pure and simple. Schuldig knows it's wrong, and that's part of what makes it creepy. (The other thing is being in a headlock by Farfarello and feeling his breath on your ear as he mangles your…language.)

To make up for the brain-breakage my language problem caused you, come to my blog – I'll tell you a little more about where my Schuldig is really from… (The address is in my profile. The BLOG address, not Schuldig's.)

**_Skippys Cat_** – Can't you just picture Far in black leather leading Schu around on a leash?****

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**_Kit_** – Braindead, eh? Then my implanted telepathic suggestions are working…****


	61. 61

**61**

"I am but mad north-north-west; when the  
wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."

The pack of cars hurtled along at a comfortable clip, our current vehicle safely tucked away near the middle of it. I allowed myself to revel in the speed and flow of the traffic, securely average, neither too near the front nor lagging too far behind. Beside me, Far reread our notes for the fiftieth time.

In the past three months we had surveyed all the active Esset hives within Western Europe, with the exception of Scandinavia and Rosenkreuz herself. At each stop, my tidy worldview took another hit. There were things going on within Esset that I would never have guessed at, and having only the barest hints left me feeling very vulnerable. I knew Crawford kept secrets, and I knew Esset did as well, but the depth of the shadow games was appalling.

As I usually did while driving with a silent passenger, I let my thoughts drift, only this time I was sincerely hoping for a flash of insight.

Within Esset, there were layers of authority. Basically, they made certain that not only did the left hand not know what the right was doing, but usually the right didn't know its own purpose, either. They never trusted their own people any more than they had to.

And now, confronted with a rogue team, did they ensure that their field units were prepared to find us? Did they tell their own agents that the Elders were slain? From everything I had seen lately, they did not. Business ground along as usual, with teams rented out to the highest bidders, and young men and women being groomed for world domination and other ambitions.

What were they trying to prove? That we were inconsequential? That the Elders were inconsequential?

Bloody hell. It made no fucking sense.

By all appearances, only Rosenkreuz herself had fielded teams to bring us in. Everyone else within the organization was pretending nothing had happened.

Brad knew what we'd find here. That had to be the reason behind this weird scavenger hunt. We'd startled a fair number of young ops-in-training, and taken stealthy photos of the facilities without being caught. They weren't in the loop, but why?

My paranoia kicked in and insisted that Esset was carrying on some well-oiled plan just beneath the surface, and everything else was just for show. Of course the facilities acted like nothing was wrong: they weren't part of this covert plan, whatever the fuck it was. But Rosenkreuz, that decaying old monarch, was involved up to her teeth.

And somehow, Brad Crawford had gotten wind of it. Whether through his gift or some subtle espionage, he knew what they were up to. And he was throwing a monkey wrench into the machine.

"Get off the road," Far growled, cutting through my reverie.

Shit – had I been broadcasting? The cars speeding along with us, were they innocent, as I had initially thought? I felt trapped – caught in the fast lane, and too damn far from the exits. I began maneuvering to the off-ramp, my hands cold on the wheel. The things I had taken for granted could not be dismissed in the future, even something so little as driving in traffic.

I watched out for pursuit vehicles as I sped away toward smaller roads. None followed, but Far kept a hawklike vigil out the back window. "What did you see, Far?" I asked, voice dropping absurdly to a whisper.

"I can't explain it," he murmured, frowning. "But They are here."

Shit. Had I called them to us? No, I mustn't go there: I couldn't allow myself to get overly paranoid, or I'd fall right into whatever trap they might have set for us. I had to believe that my musings were, in fact, my own choice, and not the result of someone browsing through my head. A paranoid telepath was a pathetic thing, only one step away from crayons and tinfoil hats.

Serendipity led me to a large shopping center, with a very active flow of cars in the parking lot. I drove around until I found the inevitable loading docks, a more sheltered area out of public sight. We ditched the car and headed into the mall, to lose ourselves for a little while.

One assumption I had to hold onto was that Esset would not act in the open. So long as there were non-Esset witnesses in numbers great enough to be messy, they would never attack us directly. This did not mean they wouldn't try psionic means to bring us to them, but I felt confident enough in my shielding now that I wasn't too worried about that. As long as I didn't get too distracted, I would know which thoughts were mine.

Since we carried all our worldly belongings in backpacks, Farfarello and I could pass for university students fairly well. Most people were content to believe we were hostel-hoppers, hiking our way across the continent. Shopkeepers eyed us suspiciously, wary of shoplifters, but a soft mental nudge kept them from fretting too much.

His voice low, Far asked, "What next, then?"

I pondered a moment, then told him, "I haven't the faintest idea. We'll need transport, that much I do know. What's left on the list?"

"Denmark."

I frowned. "Don't they make cheese there or something?"

"Everyplace makes cheese. Denmark has a mermaid."

"Oh, right." I had no clue what he was going on about.

We browsed through the mall, not entering the shops but looking in every window. As we did, I cautiously scanned around, and I knew that Far was keeping watch in his own way. There were a number of shielded minds in the area, the shields resonating with Esset training. I did nothing to indicate my identity to them, merely glanced then glanced away. "Shit," I whispered. "This place is crawling with them."

"It's quite possible," Far murmured, his eyebrow raised over his good eye, "that I was hasty."

I glared at him. "How so?"

"Back in Berlin," he murmured, as if this had been only hours past and not months. "The wrong unpleasant surprise." He shrugged and led the way toward the next exit. "No matter. It's all random anyway." His lips kept moving after he fell silent, as though he were whispering a secret incantation.

I touched his mind and bounced back immediately. "Far? You okay?"

He looked back over his shoulder and said, "Some statues are alive. You knew that, right? Some, not all. I'm not sure about her, but some for certain."

Oh, lovely. Rather than encourage this at the moment, I herded him out the door and into the parking lot. Far stared up at the sky as he continued murmuring silent messages to himself. I surveyed the lot and found a car just pulling in. "This way, come on."

As we passed the driver, I made him hand me the keys and continue walking. He would think he had merely misplaced the keys, and by the time he realized the car was gone we would be out of the country entirely.

Moving like I owned the vehicle, I strode to the driver's side and told Far, "Get in. You can talk to me more as we drive."

Fortunately Far was in one of his obedient moods. He got into the car and buckled his belt, cradling his pack on his lap.

I pulled out of the parking lot and was just getting onto the main road when I felt the sweep. Gritting my teeth, I tried to concentrate on shielding and driving. The mental touch grew stronger, started prying into my shields. My vision blurred.

Sudden pain lanced through me, a sharp white-hot pain right below my left hip. I cried out, then noted the abrupt absence of the other telepath. Locking my shields up tight, I hit the gas and swerved through traffic, aiming for the highway.

The pain withdrew with a nasty sliding sensation. I glanced to my left to see Far wiping a two-inch-long pin on his sleeve.

"You fuck!" I yelled. "You stabbed me!"

Far regarded me impassively. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Son of a fucking bitch," I growled, unable to argue with him.

"I made a promise," Far whispered. "I'm to guard you with my life. Don't fuck it up."

The adrenalin finally started to fade as I selected a route northward. Without letting myself get distracted, I tried to remember what the hell was in Copenhagen.

"They're trying to build the perfect robot," Far murmured as if answering a question. "That's what they call statues that move, you know. Robots. Unless they're Jewish. They used to build golems, but those are magic."

My adrenalin reconsidered its withdrawal, creeping back upward and making the hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck stand on end. "That's right," I said, trying to sound calm, "you were telling me something about statues, back in the mall. What was that about?"

"She's not that kind of statue."

"Who, Far?" I prompted, not sure if conversation or silence were more dangerous at the moment.

"The mermaid. She's not that kind of statue. She just sits, and watches, and waits for her sailor to return," Farfarello explained with all the patience of the damned.

"Maybe you should take a nap," I suggested, unaccountably nervous. This wasn't the weirdest conversation I'd ever had with him, but something about it made me very tense.

"Schuldig," Far said, his tone patronizing, "who'll watch over you if I'm asleep?"

I sighed. He was right, of course. He'd just saved my ass from a telepathic attack. True, he did this by stabbing it with a stick-pin, but still. "Okay, fine. We'll talk about statues."

"Robots."

"Beg pardon?"

"When they move. If they're not magic. They're robots, aren't they?" He gave me a perplexed scowl. "They must be. Robots…statues…robots…" His voice trailed away and he stared past me, focused somewhere outside my window. Or focused somewhere within; it was hard to tell.

"Mind if I ask you something?" I asked, trying to gauge his mood. When he didn't speak, I began to worry he'd gone back into those seizures again. My voice came out high and tense as I asked him, "I didn't blast you in the head when we fucked, did I? Or that quickie in the men's room? I mean, you've always been pretty much immune, but we were both a little out of practice, right?"

"What?"

I sighed. Oddly enough, that answered my question. If I had hit him, he'd have no end of insults for me at this point. No, his current strangeness was pure Farfarello, and at the moment it scared the piss out of me.

"Schuldig, if I ask you a question, will you answer truly?" he whispered.

Good thing my hackles hadn't gone back down, or they'd have had to get right back up again. "What, Far?"

"Yes or no? Will you answer truly?"

With a weary nod I said, "Yes, Far. You know I can't lie to you."

"Only to God," he murmured, then paused as if deciding on his wording. "Would you know a robot if you met one?"

"I don't know, Far," I replied, wondering where the hell he was going with this. "I suppose if it were all shiny and shit, that would be a real giveaway, right?"

"What if it looked like a person?"

"I'd scan it," I told him, hoping this was the right answer. "Then I'd know, wouldn't I? I mean, a machine can't have the same kind of mind as a person."

"What if it did? Or, seemed to, anyway?" Far regarded me with a chilly intensity, searching my face for some answer I didn't have.

"What, you think I'm a robot?" I asked, trying to sound glib.

"No, not you. You need. Robots don't need. Not like you do." He turned to look out his own window. "He doesn't need. He eats without tasting. He talks to them. They talk to him. It all makes sense now."

I really hated it when things "made sense" to Farfarello, especially when they had the impact of sudden enlightenment. It almost made me wish he'd stick pins in my leg again, just to get him off this topic.

"They make robots in Copenhagen," Far whispered, a soft growl in his voice.

Again I tried to recall what was so damn special about that facility. Berlin trained the officers and medics. Prague trained the operations specialists and teachers. We all knew what Rosenkreuz did. But Copenhagen…

I felt myself go pale.

_Nagi._

* * *

**A/N:**

"I am but mad north-north-west; when the  
wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw."

Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2. Sometimes Farfarello calls for a literary quote rather than a pop-culture commentary, and this is one of those times. Why Hamlet? Schuldig has actually read that one, and in his mind the half-mad Dane is nearly as profound as Farfarello. Besides, there's something rotten in the state of Denmark…

Yes, there is a statue of the Little Mermaid in the harbor at Copenhagen. It's a tribute to storyteller Hans Christian Anderson, for his tragic tale of the young seadweller who sought to become human. Some things are more wisely left to the sea…

golem –_ n. Jewish Folklore._ An artificially created human being endowed with life by supernatural means. (The Tormont Webster's Illustrated Encyclopedic Dictionary)

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Yanagi-sen_** – LOL, you're right, one would think he'd learn…

**_Star Princess Meesa_** – (ch 60) grin

(ch 59 – review #350! More sparklies ensue…) "There's nothing you can't make seem canon." I'm honored.

**_DSC _**– Schu knows that Far lives in a very different mental universe, and doesn't really expect him to be quite forthcoming with all his thoughts. And he's grateful that this is usually the case; it's when Far does confide in him that he starts to get nervous.

**_Kit_** – Sixty chapters – ooh, I feel all giddy!

**_cu123_** – (ch 59) I don't mind, but Farfarello mixed up the words on purpose, because they taste good.

As for when they'll be reunited, it won't be too much longer. Brad's plans are coming together nicely.

(ch 60) If you follow any story until all questions are answered, the end must ultimately be a sad one. The men of Schwarz are destined to become heroes, and heroes rarely die peacefully of old age. To borrow a quote from "The Dark Tower" by Stephen King (as it will be referenced in "Standing Outside the Fire"): "We all die in time…but we will be magnificent."

**_Bladderwrack_** – at a loss for words - bows I'm so glad you understood the desperation, it's not easy to write that into a scene.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Oh, Far has many things yet to show us…

**_Maya_** – Two words: watch "Gluhen".

**_Shadowgirl_** – (ch 60) (scribbles note for later chapter – "include lots of detail on Far's disguise for Shadowgirl…") I've already thought about it, and Far in a cowboy hat would be pretty damn disturbing…but Brad would look downright hot.

(ch 59) Rubbing off again, is he? That scoundrel.

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Brad's plans confuse and scare a lot of people…

**_May_** – Thank you.

**_Fayra_** – (ch 59) Crawford has his reasons, and I promise all the BxS fans that someday Schu will understand everything. Well, almost everything. He'll understand enough. I hope.

(ch 60) Oh, go ahead and root for Rosenkreuz. I think it's fair to say that they're gonna need it. But seriously, same advice I gave to Maya: watch "Gluhen". I'm keeping the major points of canon intact, which means that – well, just watch "Gluhen" and you'll understand more than Schuldig will.

The AMV with the T.A.T.U. song? Love it!

Brazilian, eh? Cool is good, but we're talking about "Standing Outside the FIRE", not "Standing Outside the Fridge". Is it dreadfully different? sweatdrops

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – (ch 60) Schu and Far action – a better wake-up than Brad's imported coffee.

LOL! Actually, the whole "Pretty" thing has a snarky side note to it. In my world, Masafumi had the hots for one of Daddy's bodyguards, but Daddy said no. So Masafumi had to go get his own set of four, and he found this model who had a slim, boyish ass… Poor Schoen…having to be Schuldig's body double for Masafumi's weird fetishes…

(ch 59) I won't go into age stuff either. Let's just say that Far would love my next birthday…and he'd give me a towel.

Wow, I'm so glad my world is coming together so clearly. And it is creepy as hell, thinking about what might be possible. When looking at global cults and similar "conspiracy" topics, all I can think of is, if they can, why would they not? Without Kritiker (and Schwarz), who would stop them? Not good thoughts for late at night, either…

**_Lestat_** – I'm glad you're staying with me on this ride! It's an epic, and I hope all my readers stick through till the end. And Crawford's plans will make themselves known bit by bit, as he entrusts Schu (and us!) with that knowledge.

**_Eboni_** – Brad knows how off-hinge Far gets, and he's trusting that madness to keep his own secrets safe. Imagine using a combination lock that keeps changing…

**_Skippys Cat_** – What do you think of Farfarello now?

There's a lot of sadness around Schuldig, Brad, and Yohji. The relationships are complicated and not soon to resolve.

I'll risk tossing a song quote here, and let you decide who it's about: "For the greatest tragedy of all is love lost, but the greatest virtue belongs to those who would give everything to love again; it is a test… There is always hope, and the strongest and the bravest will always keep it close to them, for if you surrender hope, then love was right to leave you…" (CXS "Helen")


	62. 62

**62**

_Jeux sans frontieres…_

It was always a bad thing when Farfarello obsessed over Nagi. Usually it was either the silent staring variety of obsession or the more overtly dangerous religious mania.

This was new.

My brain whirred at top speed, trying to decipher and defuse the situation. "Far, I'm trying to remember my notes," I said, stalling for time. "Tell me what you know about Copenhagen."

"The port, or the Esset facility?"

"The facility." Tension settled into my arms and shoulders as I gripped the steering wheel. Until I understood what Far was talking about, I didn't dare commit to a destination. I focused on aiming vaguely north, but kept an eye open for detours that might buy me some time.

Far stared at the highway.

With a jolt I realized I didn't know if Far had ever been there before. I knew he'd been living on his own since running away from an asylum in England at the age of eleven. He'd wandered from the British Isles into France, and who knows where else, before being picked up by the Rosenkreuz "talent scouts". He'd been fifteen, and on the edge of starvation. They'd lured him in with a sandwich.

"Farfarello?" I prompted, liking this silence almost less than the conversation. "Have you been to Copenhagen?"

"Only in movies," he murmured. "The shoemaker. The mermaid. The ugly duck." One hand rose to his own face as if to verify that it was, indeed, quite scarred. "Swans."

I frowned to myself. Far was taking too many odd turns for my taste today. I shifted in my seat and was rewarded with a twinge from my offended buttock and a cramp in my left shoulder. Flexing my arm a bit, I reached for the radio. Maybe some music would help Farfarello sort his thoughts, or at least knock him out of his Danny Kaye musical for a while. Not really thinking about it, I dialed around until I heard something vaguely familiar, though I immediately decided it was a mistake. It was one of Far's favorite artists, and in his current state that could be either a good thing or a bad thing. I'd always found this song somewhere between unsettling and annoying. I decided to change the station before he noticed it.

Far spoke, and I paused, my hand hanging in mid-air. "No," he stated flatly. "Turn the car around. We have to go to France."

"But we've already done France, damn it! Twice!" If I had to drive through those green hills with a raving lunatic in the car one more time, I was going to need the straitjacket for myself. That creepy song wasn't helping; I reached to switch it off.

Far grabbed my hand and gently returned it to the steering wheel. "France," he told me yet again.

"Just ten minutes ago you were all fired up about–" I stopped myself abruptly, not wanting to revisit the robot factory just yet. "Why the change?"

Farfarello sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Brad Crawford is in France."

"What the fuck?"

He gave me one of those beatific smiles that usually scared the crap out of people and said, "This is Tuesday. Four-fifteen. Damn, I don't know how he does it, but he did it. Seers are touched by God, you know." Far pointed at the radio. An echoing voice repeated "jeux sans frontieres" as it faded out. "France."

A chill gripped the back of my neck like the hand of a ghoul. "Explain," I grated, not looking at him.

"He knows I listen to Peter Gabriel. He told me we'd know when it was time to meet up again, and where to find them. How many times have we been in a car and not heard anything by Peter Gabriel? Or any of Crawford's usual music, for that matter? Yet today, Tuesday, at quarter past four, you turn on a radio and the song is just coming on. He's a Seer, all right. And a damn good one."

"Fuck," I breathed, not at all certain about this explanation but having nothing better to offer.

"Be thankful it wasn't the song about the monkey."

I shuddered. Though I didn't know exactly what he meant, his tone was thick with foreboding. Drawing a deep breath, I asked, "So what's important about the day and the time, Far? Was that part of it?" I still half believed that this was only another random detour on the mental travels of a lunatic. If Brad had set a signal, why hadn't he told me about it? Besides, he'd never used his foreknowing quite like this; it was weird, even to me.

Farfarello only smiled.

"Son of a bitch," I growled, searching for the next off-ramp. I tried in vain to estimate how long it would take us to get to France – numbers still didn't want to be my friends anymore. With growing frustration, I pointed at the glove box. "See if there's a map in there."

Far reached into the glove box and produced a small travel book. It didn't look like it had the best maps, but it would have to do.

"See if you can figure out how long it'll take us, and tell me where exactly the fuck I'm going."

"To the airport, of course."

Not like there's only one airport in France, but I wasn't about to say that. Brad would probably go for the deGaulle, so I set my sights for Paris.

At least this France thing had gotten Far off the robots, but I would have to follow through on that eventually. I wasn't sure whether it would be better to talk about it before meeting up with the others, or if seeing Nagi in his agitated state would be a Farfarello disaster. Then again, there was no guarantee that talking things out would improve matters: Far was psychotic, not neurotic. His worldview changed for no man.

"Where are we now?" Far asked, his voice relaxing into softer rhythms.

I sighed and tried to remember the last road sign. As if on cue, another sign loomed ahead, and I squinted up at the two exits denoted there. Stark blue and white brought my life into sudden harsh focus. One exit would take me into France.

The other led to Amsterdam.

I felt like I'd just been punched. My throat tightened, daring me to speak. "I guess we're headed that way," I whispered, taking the road to Paris.

When the radio station faded out, Far switched it off and we drove in silence. I tried to get my mind away from Japan, but it wasn't working too well. It had been months since I'd seen him; again I hadn't been able to really say goodbye before leaving. I wondered if he missed me.

With a silent snarl I reminded myself that this off-topic musing wasn't resolving anything about Far and his robots. Besides, how could I face Brad if I spent the drive daydreaming about Yohji? And face Brad I would – playing spy shit at the expense of his own second was really pissing me off. He needed to either trust me or ship me off to Kritiker. We had to get this sorted out or Schwarz would self-destruct.

"Okay, so we're on our way to an airport somewhere in France," I stated, anger making my voice almost whiny. "Will you tell me what the fuck you were going on about, with the robots and shit?"

Farfarello regarded me with a calm and puzzled expression. "You already know, why are you asking me?"

_I could have gone to Amsterdam, put Far on a bus to France, and sent Yohji a plane ticket… Count to ten, count to ten… _"I'm asking you," I purred, the anger nowhere near gone, "because I'm trying to concentrate on driving. So will you please just humor me?"

"Copenhagen trains the Nagis," Far stated in his most patronizing tone. "The ones who can move things with their minds."

"Telekinetics," I murmured, just to verify that we were, in fact, on the same page.

"And other psychokinetics, anything but the pyros," Far confirmed. "Esset wants more Nagis, they know he's powerful. They hunger for his talent. If they can't force other recruits to manifest that kind of power, they're going to try to instill it in them. It's only a matter of time."

"So, Far," I ventured, "why a robot?"

"He acts like one. That's why they think he's perfect. That's why they want him. If they can train the others to act like he does, Esset will think they're perfect, but they'll be mistaken. Only God is perfect." He frowned then, as if his words had tasted foul on his tongue. "Only God is perfect, but Nagi has the power of the angels in him. Did he make his own power? Or did Esset put it into him? Does Esset hold the power of God?"

Ah, shit. "I don't know, Far." Carefully neutral answers were my only option now. This was familiar territory, and it was fraught with peril. "I don't think they hold that kind of power. If they did, they'd have found us already."

"He parted the waters, and brought forth the Beast," Far murmured in a low monotone. "But I don't know for certain if he was made by God or by Man. If he was made by God, then I don't know his purpose. But if he was made by Man…" His voice trailed off again and he returned to staring out his window.

I tried to stay calm. In this state, the madman could damn near smell fear. He'd been going after Nagi since the start, with occasionally bloody results. Once he had marked the kid, carved a fucking cross on his back. Another time he had cut his own hands, a sort of assisted stigmata, and smeared the blood on Nagi's face as a benediction. There was some weird dynamic between the two of them, but fuck if I could figure it out. This new commentary didn't help. If Far was trying to decipher the origin of Nagi's power, it could lead to all sorts of interesting and disastrous conclusions.

"Four," came the whisper from my passenger. "There shall be four. One with a bow. One with a sword. One with the balance. And one with all of Hell at his back." He turned and looked at me, his single eye gleaming. "The question remains, which four?"

Oh, no. I wasn't about to get into that discussion. Even robot-land was safer. "With the exception of Copenhagen, did we hit all our stops on this little scenic tour? I'll have to let Brad know how it all went. Not like we can get our film developed anywhere, but maybe he's been taking classes on how to do that in a fuel-stop bathroom."

Far regarded me with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Every place except Denmark," he confirmed. "Where are we going now?"

I resisted the urge to slam my head against the dashboard. "France, remember? We're looking for Crawford and Nagi." The name was out of my mouth before I realized it, and I cringed, hoping it wouldn't set him off again.

But Farfarello merely nodded. "Ah, yes. Jeux sans frontieres. Esset is fond of those, don't you think?"

With a mental sigh I accepted his momentary return to reason. "Too fond," I murmured. "It's the only game they know."

The conversation faded out like the radio, so we switched that off as well. We travelled in silence until fatigue forced me to stop. I made Far promise to stay close and keep watch while I slept a little.

My dreams weren't good.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Jeux sans frontieres…_

"Games Without Frontiers" – Peter Gabriel _Melt_. This quote translates as the title, and the fact that it is French seems quite important to Farfarello. The song is at once a condemnation of the pettiness of war, and a recognition that hostilities aren't likely to cease anytime soon. In a way, it could be interpreted as a call-to-arms for those seeking to break the cycle of power of Esset.

This chapter, perhaps more than any of the ones before it, shows just how disjointed Farfarello's mental processes can get. He has a set view of the world that mixes a literal application of the Bible with random scientific and philosophical tidbits. Though he usually manages to blend them into a comforting whole, there are times that they clash and he has to decide which is more correct. Situations that make him debate his own worldview are perilous to those around him, for one wrong observation might send him into a killing frenzy.

"There shall be four. One with a bow. One with a sword. One with the balance. And one with all of Hell at his back." – "…and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer… And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword… and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand… And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." (The Bible, King James Version. Revelation, 6.2-8)

"The question remains, which four?" – Good question, Far…good question.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Redqueen_** – LOL! Freaked beans and twisted pickles, eh? Sounds…like one hell of a strange picnic! Of course, Yohji and Far together would be a hell of a strange picnic themselves…

Yep, it was the adrenalin.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Ever see those "schmuzzle" puzzles, the ones where all the pieces are identical interlocking salamanders? I'm rather fond of those.

**_Miss British Teacakes_** – Check out my live journal, I explain more about why Far called Nagi a robot with such mad conviction.

**_Arileo_** – At least he didn't use the hunting knife!

**_Lestat_** – Ah, you noticed the robot tendencies too, did you? Come, come to my livejournal. Much is explained there.****

****

**_Fayra_** – I love that AMV. It's one of the first ones I ever saw for Weiß. And did I mention that my Brad Crawford is a Pink Floyd fan?

Sadly for me, the only thing I really know about Brazil is the coffee. ; Got any good learning links I could look at? My email's in my profile.****

****

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Yeeeowch! I bet that hurt. I tried archery myself once. ONCE. I'm better with a crossbow; at least those don't try to bite your fingers off when you use them.

Far rather enjoyed the poke. Wait, which chapter were we talking about? Oh, right. The PIN.****

****

**_May_** – I run very fast, thank you! Heh heh heh.

Thank you again for reading. I love this story too.****

****

**_DSC_** – I love surprising people. It's so much fun!

Nagi and Far both have a good deal of character development ahead of them. So far, Nagi has considered himself lucky to be left in the wings, but he's about to get his curtain call for real.

No idea how many chapters. The pace is in the process of speeding up big time, but we still have a lot of ground to cover.

Big Confession Time: the story is out of control and someone cut the brake lines! ;; No, but seriously – it's an epic, and it's writing itself. The ending is already done in my head, but my fingers haven't informed my computer yet.

**_Mayaslash_** – waves back No problem, I know how unnerving it can be to see someone possiblymakingthebiggestmistakeoftheirlivesandbehelplesstostopit! (pauses to catch breath and whisper "not that Yotan is a mistake, but…")

The other Brad/Schu fans are gathered over there, next to the espresso machine. You might want to avoid the bar, that's where the Yohji/Schu fans hang out. I'll try to keep everyone distracted with the story so no fights break out between the two camps. ;;

LOL about the Treize/Brad thing!

I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Schu, Yohji, Brad and all the others already have their fates written. I am but the conduit of their tale.****

****

**_Shadowgirl_** – Since you pulled out the "caught in the fast lane" quote, here's a little role-playing thing you can try: pretend you're with Schwarz, on the run from an unseen but ever-present enemy. You're driving along, and you come to some railroad tracks. The barriers are down, the lights are flashing, and a train is hurtling along the tracks. All around you is a sea of motionless cars…and you can't turn around. There's nowhere to go, should one of these cars be hiding a sniper or a telepath.

Twitchy, isn't it? (notices you also pulled out the "paranoid telepath" quote, laughs nervously)

I like your Shakespeare commentary. Very apt.****

****

**_Skippys Cat_** – Farfarello knows that whenever Schu gets that little frown line between his eyebrows and his eyes glaze over, he's in trouble. (Of course, Far might have just noticed Schu's deodorant blowing out from the stress.)

It's more likely that they could be trapped and herded in a car than on foot – force them off the road at a point of Esset's choosing and bang. Remember, Schuldig is gambling that Esset will not act openly in front of a large number of witnesses.

Truth be told, I see half of the quote as Brad and half as Yohji. I may have to do a wallpaper for that…****

****

**_Bladderwrack_** – You know, that was one of my favorite lines to write for that chapter?****

****

**_Eboni_** – I'm glad you're having fun playing sleuth, and I'm pleased to offer you all the clues you need. One of your details is off – in my world, Nagi DID go to Rosenkreuz. Details are in my livejournal and on my website – check out the Character Development essays.****


	63. 63

**63**

_was it mirror? or window glass? the subtle residue beyond your grasp…_

We arrived at the Charles deGaulle International Airport a little before eight the next morning. During the early morning hours I had found us a new vehicle, and now pulled the panel van into a parking spot in the middle of a shining array of cars.

Far was still agitated, and I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of taking him into the terminal. I looked at him with my most sincere smile on and said, "If we're keeping this van for a while, I need you to stay out here and make sure nobody messes with it. I trust that if anyone comes by looking for us, you can make enough of a ruckus to get my attention?"

"You'll see it on the monitors," Far growled. "I'll throw body parts at the cameras just for you."

I took a deep breath and nodded. "You guard the van, I'll look for Crawford."

The Irishman stared at me with uncanny certainty. "He'll be here."

I gave the keys to Far in case he needed to move the van, or in case he needed some small hand-to-hand weaponry. I didn't really think we'd be bothered here; this was one of those random plans that Brad endorsed, and I hadn't sensed any surveillance after leaving Germany. Still, the thought of wandering through a crowded airport alone, searching for someone who rightly shouldn't even be there, left me feeling less than confident. I straightened my rumpled clothes as best I could, ran a hand through the unruly and dye-faded mop that was my hair, and headed for the main terminal.

Inside, the pressure of hundreds of minds crept up on my shields with the inexorable momentum of a glacier. This was worse than the mall, worse than any place we'd stopped in the past four months. I ground my teeth together and tried to concentrate. I hadn't been in this tight a crowd in a long time. And now I was doing this without Brad, without his silence to lean against.

It was harder than I'd remembered.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window and paused. I looked like a hitchhiker, or a drunk. Either way, it wasn't good. At least there was a change of clothes back at the van.

Trying not to look like a lost tourist, I searched for the arrivals board. Then I realized I had no idea where they would be coming from. If they were even coming here!

"Damn it!" I snarled to myself. This was crazy, and futile. How the fuck was I supposed to guess where to look?

Falling in with a group of British kids on holiday, I ended up at an overpriced eatery. Out of spite more than necessity, I swindled the cashier out of a bit of money and a cup of coffee. Served them right for charging so damn much for this nasty stuff! Prize in hand, I stalked to a table and slumped into a rickety plastic chair.

Farfarello had insisted that Brad would meet us in France. I'd guessed this airport just because I knew Brad was familiar with it, but it wasn't the only place he could go. I had no idea where he would be coming from, or when. But Far had been so certain.

I tried to find some logic in the situation and failed. Closing my eyes, I sent my thoughts out in a cautious sweep. For a moment I felt myself caught up in the excitement of the young travellers, and the boredom of the staff – it was an odd mix that left me feeling both lethargic and energized. Then I sent my thoughts toward the parking lot.

:Far? Can you hear me:

:I'm sorry, but you've exceeded your anytime minutes: Far replied. I could taste his grin.

:Do you know where he's coming in from: I sent back:or when:

Farfarello considered this, his mind buzzing and searching for an answer. Dimly I picked up the tune of that song that started this whole wild goose chase. :The only major player not mentioned in the song is the United States. That must be it. They're coming in from America.:

:Great. Any idea on when:

:Check the arrivals board.:

Fuck. :Right.: I released the mindlink and lurched to my feet. I'd been driving so long my legs didn't want to work now. Well, one wild goose or several, it really didn't matter to me anymore. I may as well check it out. Besides, I'd need an answer for Farfarello if they didn't show. I couldn't let him think I hadn't looked.

As fate would have it, there was an early flight due in from New York in about forty minutes. I settled down to wait for it. Every so often I sent out a mental probe to make certain Far was still okay, and to see if anyone had taken undue interest in me. I discovered that I could have made a bit of cash if I'd followed a couple of men into the restroom; my lip snarled in distaste. They were the kind of people who thought they owned anyone poorer than themselves. Like Takatori.

Like Esset.

Paranoia swept over me and I scanned them again, but no, they were just horny tourists looking to cheat on their wives without "really" cheating.

My heart didn't want to slow back down. I watched the clock and tried counting the seconds, but either my internal clock was wound up way too tight or time itself was grinding to a halt. This was becoming the longest forty minutes of my life. And the odds were that Brad and Nagi were nowhere near here.

He had said I would know how to find them, I'd know when to look. But this was insane, literally insane: inspired by a certified lunatic.

I ran a hand through my unkempt hair and winced as I hit a tangle. My hand shook as I combed through the mess.

Twelve minutes to go.

Trying to look casual, I sauntered toward the gate. I couldn't convince my way through to the arrival gate itself, that would look suspicious as hell on the security cameras. I had to be content waiting with a herd of locals and peering out the window. My reflection in the glass was thin and lacking color, like a ghost made of water.

I found myself hoping against hope that by some mad chance Far was right, and they would be here.

The plane from America cruised down to the runway and sped away toward the turnaround. I resisted the urge to scan it; if there were Esset operatives onboard, I didn't want to give them any advance notice.

And if Brad weren't onboard, I didn't want to give myself any advance letdown.

The wait was excruciating.

When the first few passengers came trudging up from the gate, I searched their faces only, wondering suddenly if Brad would be so changed I wouldn't even recognize him. The fear was silly, but real: it had been four months, and he was less attached to his unique appearance than I was. He'd been the one to try the fake mustache, after all.

People streamed from the plane in twos and threes, one wheelchair, a woman with an infant, a small cluster of students, a military officer, a couple on honeymoon.

I started to turn away in disappointment, and stopped.

The officer drew a pair of glasses out of his pocket and put them on, the gesture as familiar to me as my own reflection.

I swallowed. Damn, he looked good like that! Navy blue uniform, impeccably neat; black hair cropped short, and – was that a gray patch at his right temple?

Coffee-colored eyes regarded me with warmth and a little humor. As he came even with me, he looked me up and down and gave a subtle nod toward the men's room. Recalling the horny tourist, I leered a little and followed him in. If anyone noticed, they were doing their damnedest not to think about it.

We pretended not to look at each other as we paused at the urinals. Out of the corner of my eye I confirmed that yes, Brad had a very distinguished streak of silver through his hair and no, it didn't look fake. It would show up even more once it grew out again. I wondered if that was why he'd cut it.

:Good to see you. Where's Farfarello: Brad asked, his mental voice strong and welcome in my head.

:Guarding our ride.: I paused before asking:And Nagi:

Brad glanced down at his watch, a new, sleek, steel-bright band at his left wrist. :He should be ahead of us…now.: Ignoring me, Brad pulled out the handle of his carry-on and wheeled it toward the door.

I followed, my throat tight. For a moment I had feared… Then I saw him with my own eyes and smiled.

Nagi strode down the concourse, not looking back. He seemed older, more confident in himself. Either that, or they'd rehearsed this until it was comfortable.

Not looking at each other, we followed him, the officer and the pick-up.

:Which parking lot: Brad asked as Nagi neared the exits.

I expanded my contact to touch the kid's mind and said:Out and to the left. Good to see you, chibi.:

:Don't you mean 'nice to see you're back': Nagi sent, totally deadpan.

It took me a moment to register the pun. :Chibi, you made a funny:

:Whatever, Schuldig.:

:Brad, I've been meaning to ask you: I began, but Brad cut me off.

:Not here. We'll talk later. Believe me, we'll talk.:

The three of us managed a neat pass-by, allowing me to take the lead in the parking lot. Nagi followed, with Brad at the rear. The van was right where it should have been, Far safely within it and fairly lucid from the feel of things. Nagi and Brad climbed into the back with Farfarello, I took position behind the wheel, and with cautious optimism I drove away from the airport. "Where to, oh fearless leader?" I asked, unaccountably cheerful.

"Unspoiled wilderness," Brad stated. "North and a little west of here. We need privacy."

I could hear the rustle of clothing and resisted the temptation to glance back. I allowed the highway to turn us toward green and tree-topped hills. The next exit gave me access to dirt paths and fields. A quick scan showed no witnesses as I aimed the van across the grass and off toward the trees.

Once we were as hidden as possible in broad daylight, I parked the van and leaned back with a sigh. The quiet of Brad Crawford flowed over me like sauna steam, warming me in places I didn't even know were cold. The team was together again. Together and safe.

"Schuldig, come with me," Brad stated, opening the back door of the van and squinting against the glare. "Far, over there." He gestured to the faint tracks where we drove into the woods. "Keep watch. Anyone comes this way, stop them fast and get back to the van." Leaning back into the van, Brad addressed Nagi: "You have the keys. Any trouble, get this thing moving."

Nagi slid into the driver's seat, looking more than a little uncomfortable. Far stared at him a moment longer than strictly necessary, then stalked to his post. Brad regarded me with dark, wise eyes and said, "We need to talk."

I frowned, but followed him without a word. This didn't seem right, somehow. The whole damn situation didn't seem right. I touched his mind, not really intending to make sure it was really him but confirming it without a doubt.

It also confirmed that something was very wrong.

Now dressed in jeans and a soccer shirt, Brad strode a measured distance away from Farfarello and stopped to wait for me. "How did your recon go?"

I started to reply, then realized that this wasn't exactly the question he wanted answered. "Disturbing," I finally stated. "They don't know about us. The other facilities – they don't know."

Brad nodded to himself. "I thought as much. What else?"

I pondered this. "We think the only place looking for us is –" I couldn't bring myself to say the name, even here. I swallowed and said, "The big house. All the others, they don't even know what's going on. I told a few of them, hopefully that will muck things up a bit."

"Did you finish your list?"

"The only place we didn't get to was Copenhagen," I murmured, hoping to hell we really were out of Farfarello's earshot. "Far said something about them making robots there, he's thinking Nagi isn't human – again. If he hadn't caught your signal, we'd be there now, and who knows what he'd have done."

Brad raised an eyebrow. "What signal?"

I realized my mouth was hanging open, and shut it, shaking my head. "The song, Brad. The song on the radio."

Brad stared at me. "What song?"

"But – didn't you – he –" I spluttered, my nerves completely shot.

"There was no signal," Crawford stated, his voice low. "I had a vision that Farfarello would make you drive to France for some ungodly reason. We were actually heading for Italy."

My legs didn't want to hold me up anymore, and I let them fold under me until I sat down on the lush grass with a thump. "I'll kill him."

"You'll do no such thing." Brad reached down and grasped my arm, hauling me roughly to my feet. "In any case, it worked. We're going to be travelling together for a while. I need time to work some things through. You're going to be driving. You all right with that?"

"Yeah," I snarled, "as long as Far keeps his fucking hands off the radio."

* * *

**A/N:**

_was it mirror? or window glass? the subtle residue beyond your grasp… _

Back to CXS _Telemetry_. The song – "Hanged Man". It's a very Farfarello song, and a very Brad song as well: a fortune teller laying out the cards, or is it one of the Fates Herself? Hard to say. But here lies the point where mystery and madness meet: how did Farfarello find Brad, really? That's what Schuldig wants to know…

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

A special note to **_Lestat_** and **_iGnoRed One_** – thanks for the frickin' nightmares! MonkeyCat and I just watched "Ju-on" (it took a while to get through Greencine), and I have to say I'm probably scarred for life! Damn good ride, but DAMN! Then again, I've been looking for an honest-to-god scary movie that doesn't rely on shock and gore to do the job, and I gotta say, this was pretty damn close. Except for the WTF ending. Oh, and did I mention that I tend to live in haunted apartments? Anyway…

**_Bladderwrack_** – The men of Schwarz are indeed tied together by their weaknesses and their dreams, as well as an older karmic bond. They are also linked to Weiß.

Their deaths are pre-determined, by the way – Schwarz and Weiß.

All but two.****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – Cool pics! I wanna do cosplay! Waaaah! (lacks funds, time, and travel flexibility to go to conventions) Maybe one of these days…

If you thought that was creepy (the train thing), wait till you see what I have in store for Yohji, oh cosplayer. Might be a major mind-bend…****

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**_Lestat_** – You know, I might just have to include a flashback to the time Far and Schu were watching "Silence of the Lambs" on satellite, just for you.****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Oh, it makes sense, all right. And I think Schuldig is suspicious of exactly that. For some reason, Brad has been pushing him away, yet not quite willing to let go. One wonders just what he has in mind.****

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**_DSC_** – Fueling your fire, eh? Sounds like something from another story of mine. Heh heh heh. And as for the equation – Aya is some kind of negative variable, and Ken is going slowly parabolic.****

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**_May_** – I'm glad you read the essays too. The ones for Far and Crawford are going to be very fun to write, and I'm starting to ponder the Weiß side of it. Oh, and my key OCs are going to have their moment as well.

And, nothing is as clear-cut as it may seem. ****

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**_Eboni_** – "I could have been chillin with my man and getting laid, dammit!" LOL indeed!****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – If you bribe me nicely, I might give you a little more information about those things that have you concerned and depressed. I think you'll appreciate the stories all the way through to the end, but the ride will be bumpy. Drop me an email if you just can't stand the suspense, okay?****

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**_Akayen_** – Yay! Nagi's back! Heh heh heh. He's such a sarcastic little shit, isn't he.****


	64. 64

**64**

_And the visions they keep coming  
__I keep hearing my angel fall_

Brad scowled at me, his hand still gripping my arm. "This is serious, Schuldig. Are you listening to me or not?"

"Yeah," I grumbled. "It's just, ah hell, Brad! The crazy son of a bitch said it was a signal, and at least it wasn't the monkey, and you were really there! It's just too fucking weird."

Brad sighed and ran a hand through his too-short hair. "I told you, I Saw you'd be coming here, so what's the problem? I knew I'd find you again, or you'd find me." His lips quirked in a wry smile as he added, "It was only a matter of time."

"Where did you guys go, anyway?"

"Copenhagen," he replied smoothly.

"What the fuck?" I blurted. "You told _me_ to go there!"

"But I knew you wouldn't. Will you just shut up and listen?" His voice had become tense, and he glanced back at the van.

"Brad, what's going on?" I asked. "You're acting all James Bond again."

"We'll discuss our findings later. Right now, I have a more immediate concern, Schuldig." Brad paused, so I nodded to let him know I was listening. "Nagi hasn't been quite right lately. He's moodier than usual, and he's not eating well."

I blinked. "Is he upset that we split the team?"

"I don't know. I was hoping he'd talk to you about it," Brad murmured. "He won't tell me a damn thing."

"Why wouldn't he talk to you? You're our leader. Besides," I added, "you helped me raise him; I didn't do it alone."

"Whenever I asked him what was wrong, all he'd say was 'I'm fine, Crawford.' He doesn't want to talk about it. Not with me, anyway. I think he's afraid to show weakness, for fear I'll leave him behind."

I inhaled a bitter breath and asked, "Will you?"

"What? No!"

"What about me?" I growled. "The rest of our team is convinced you're just waiting for the right time to hand me over to Kritiker."

Brad's expression softened. One hand gently gripped my shoulder. "They don't know what they think they know. Let it be, Schuldig. Right now, I'm worried about Nagi. And, from what you've told me, Farfarello isn't in the best condition either. We have to travel together for a while now. It could either help, or aggravate things."

I nodded, wanting a better answer, settling for the one I got. "You're right about Far," I said. "Like I said, he's been talking about robots and shit. Thinks Nagi isn't human. Again. And then he stabbed me in the ass with a straight pin! Crazy son of a bitch."

"Good thing I told Nagi to lock the van, then."

I sighed, giving up on any Crawfordian sympathy. "How's Nagi doing with his powers?"

Brad shook his head. "It hurts him to try. And without enough food, he gets exhausted almost immediately. Then the headache sets in. I don't think he knows I know."

"So what do we do?"

"We move out. Do what we do best, keep a few steps ahead of pursuit. We regroup. You try to get Nagi talking, or get into his head and find out what the hell is going on. I won't have him damaging himself. We'll find a way to get him back on track, and get Farfarello as stable as he can be. Then," Brad said, pausing to look into my eyes, "we kick things up a notch. We turn the hell around and run right back down Esset's throat. The war has only just started, Schuldig. And I know now that it's going to take some time, more than I'd expected."

"Brad, our own safety and survival aside for the moment, what is the point of this?" I asked, trying not to sound petulant. "I know Esset is a big bad organization that would love to rule the world, but doesn't it already? I mean, through financial and more subtle means, it's already got what it wants. Doesn't it?"

Crawford's eyes darkened, his expression hard. "In no way," he stated, "does Esset have what it wants, Schuldig. If you think running the world is enough, you are mistaken. Esset doesn't want to _rule_, it wants to _own_ all of humanity. Reshape it. Create a super race on the bones of the lesser. And, unless we are very careful, it will succeed."

"How, Brad?" I snarled, afraid for Brad's sanity, and terrified of his truth. "How the fuck can they?"

"Science and black magic," Brad murmured, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes as if the visions made them sore. "They tried the magic; it failed. Now they're trying to reinvent genetics. Between information we gathered and visions that won't go away, I believe that they are doing something heinous, and our Nagi is at the center of it."

I felt suddenly chilled, though the air was fairly warm for late autumn and the sun glowed down with stupid regularity. "What about Nagi?"

"I wish I knew for certain. The trail starts in Copenhagen, ties in with their research into telekinesis and the physical talents. There will be a laboratory dedicated to this work, but I can't See where. Or when: I get the feeling it's years down the road. But if I'm Seeing bits of it now, it might still be stoppable."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Brad rarely shared his visions, and never advocated acting on them. "Brad, if you've Seen this, why are you telling me? You always used to say that that was the wrong thing to do, that acting on a vision could make things even worse. Hell, you told me that just knowing the future could invalidate it. What's changed with you?"

"You have to understand, Schuldig: this is bigger than all of us now. I suspect it always has been." He paused to slide his glasses back on like a barrier between himself and the future. "I've been having dreams. Or, rather, one dream repeated over and over. Hell of it is, I can't tell if it's a dreamed vision, or if it's just my own subconscious finally getting even with me for years of repression. In this dream, I'm in a laboratory. I find myself drawn toward a large chamber or tank in the middle of the room. There are dials and hoses all over this thing. And I look into the tank and I see Nagi. He's sleeping inside that chamber. I know he's sleeping, but it reminded me of a glass coffin." Brad raised a hand to silence my outburst and continued. "I'm not saying I Saw this, Schuldig. Get that straight right now. There are vast differences between Seeing and dreaming. But if you know or learn of anything that might explain this, tell me immediately. This was one of those dreams that felt real, but it was so bizarre I can't reconcile it. And I've had it five times in the past six weeks. Enough to have the damn thing memorized."

"Glass coffin," I mumbled, my brain rebelling against this conversation. "Like some kind of Disney movie?"

Brad took his glasses off again and glared at them. His voice sounded raw as he replied, "No, more like the goddamned 'Matrix'. You know what, this would be easier if you just saw it for yourself. Tell me what _you_ think it is." He cupped the back of my head and looked into my eyes.

His mind pulled me into his current frustration and turbulence. I reeled, then caught my mental balance and allowed him to show me what he needed me to see: Nagi, naked and deep in sleep, floating inside a chamber of chrome and glass. I felt my lips part and heard my own voice sneaking out. "Suspended animation capsule? But that's science fiction." I pulled back from the contact and shook my head, trying to get back inside myself. For a moment, the world echoed hollowly like a forgotten bell. "You're right, it doesn't make sense."

"Watch for it, then. Help me watch for it. If it comes, it will be bad. That much I do know."

I swallowed, haunted by my brief glimpse of Crawford's dream. "Are you sure it wasn't some kind of attack, Brad? Someone trying to get into your head, influence your actions?"

Brad seemed to forgive his glasses for whatever they'd done to offend him and put them back in place with a graceful shove. "How many dreamwalkers do you know? They're fairly rare, at least the ones strong enough to set up a repeater."

I frowned. My friend Sergei had that talent, but I couldn't imagine him being able to get through Brad's shields. He just wasn't that strong. Or, he hadn't been that strong, what, five years ago? Six? When had I seen him last? Before my last encounter with Karl. "I might know of one," I murmured. "But I still don't think he could get through your shielding. So, if not that, then what, Brad? How certain are you that it didn't come from outside?"

Brad sighed. "I'm not. That's another reason I'm damn glad to have the team whole again. We'll keep a watch on this, see if it comes back. And in the meantime, we watch Nagi and our surroundings very carefully." He squinted up at the sky, then glanced down at his watch. "Come on, we have to move out."

We returned to the van, collecting Farfarello as we went. Brad took the driver's seat this time, giving me the chance to talk with Nagi. I had no idea where we were going, or what Brad's plans were. I'd intended to ask him, but never managed to get around to it. Now all I could think of was Nagi in a glass box, and it scared the hell out of me.

Still, there were immediate priorities, and finding out what was wrong with the kid had to come before my case of sci-fi heebie-jeebies. "How was your trip, kiddo?" I asked, hoping he felt talkative.

"It was all right."

"See anything interesting?"

Nagi graced me with a bland look of utter boredom. "No. Unless you consider the outsides of Esset buildings interesting."

Lowering my voice, I said, "Crawford's been worried about you. Said you hadn't been eating."

This got a reaction. Nagi blushed a little and looked away from me. "I'm all right."

"Chibi, talk to me? I'm your best friend, right? What's going on?"

Nagi sighed and turned back to face me. "All this weird food is making me sick, Schuldig. Then my head hurts, and I can't do anything until it passes. I don't know why, it just does."

"What about your powers? Been practicing?"

"No. It hurts." His eyes looked too bright as he said, "I think it's really broken."

I didn't know what to say this time. I'd reassured him before, with nothing more to go on than my own faith. Empty promises wouldn't work now.

In the silence, I could hear the wind picking up outside, reminding me that it was in fact November, in spite of the mild weather so far. We were probably going to get rained on. That was okay; it would help hide us, if that was Brad's intention.

Still, it would be getting cold soon. I dug through my meager belongings to see if I still owned any warm clothes. Wadded up in the bottom of my backpack lay a distressed leather blazer. I took it out and unfolded it, shaking the creases out as best I could. It still smelled like cigarettes, though I hadn't been smoking lately. I shrugged into it, only then noticing that I was actually a little chilled. Probably just my imagination, hearing the wind and thinking snow.

"Schuldig?" Nagi's voice seemed smaller than usual. "If it is broken, and we don't have a computer, will Crawford still need me?"

The words were out before thought. "Of course we need you! We're a team, Nagi. That's what 'team' means: people who stand by each other, and work together, even if one of them isn't doing so well. We'll stay a team, too."

"Promise?"

I nodded. "I promise. Now, will you promise me that you'll try to eat better?"

Nagi sighed, a disgusted little sound. "Schuldig, you weren't listening. It's not that I don't want food, it's that the food doesn't want me. And we haven't exactly had the time to find something that works. Every time we do, we're leaving that country and the food changes again."

"Then we'll try harder," Brad stated, glancing back at us. "We'll find something that agrees with you, Nagi. But you'll have to tell us what works and what doesn't, rather than just suffer in silence."

Nagi looked down and murmured, "Yes, sir."

Against my wishes, my mind busied itself with threads of conversation, weaving them together into an unpleasant pattern. Nagi was afraid Brad would leave him behind if he showed weakness. Already we had discussed leaving Farfarello behind, if his seizures hadn't become manageable. And there was still that specter of Kritiker hanging over my head like a damn sword.

If one of us became incapacitated, would Crawford leave him behind?

He would be a fool not to.

* * *

**A/N:**

_And the visions they keep coming  
__I keep hearing my angel fall_

This is from one of the songs I most closely associate with Brad Crawford: "Binary" from CXS _Wishfire_. Imagine for a moment that you are him, responsible for the lives of your teammates because they have become as dear as family to you. But first and foremost you are a slave to Time: glimpses of the future become dire warnings, or simple torment. You dare not warn the ones you love, lest Time become angry and throw something worse their way, but if you remain silent, your sanity will begin to slide. Either that, or you willingly discard your very humanity and remain impartial. What would you do?

Add one more detail: you decided long ago that you would not discard your humanity for anyone.

_Now_, what would you do?

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

A special thank you again to all who have supported me during the recent weeks. You've made a painful passing easier to bear. It's a comfort to be back with my muses again. I know it's been a long wait; you may want to look back over your reviews so you know what my cryptic comments are about. And, just to share a little: while I was writing this chapter, I thought I saw a presence in my doorway. He seemed to be smiling.

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Two days, eh? Wow! You've got stamina! And I gladly take the blame. I love it when people get hooked. I'm back now, so the updates should be getting back on track.****

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**_Poco-poco_** – (ch 63) Ah, amor. Crawford is a very stubborn man, but so is Schuldig. Yes, theirs would be a very good match, wouldn't it? (Yohji could be the ideal mistress…)

(ch 39) Good question, and fairly asked. Before I allow a character to take part in one of my stories, he has to put this fish in his ear… grin

But seriously – in my Weiß World, many of the people are multi-lingual. As in real life, knowing more than one language is a real plus in the business world, and my characters all have good reasons for knowing English at least as a second language. Schuldig knows it because he learned some in school before Rosenkreuz, and then Esset insists that its operatives be culturally flexible. Yohji is a detective, and you can bet that some of the coolest pulp fiction (heh!) books were never translated into Japanese. As long as they're discussing sex, murder, music, or cars, they're fine. Besides – Schu's a lazy telepath: anything that he can pick up by osmosis, he calls it good.

**_Arileo_** – I love writing Far. Especially when he treats Schuldig like a cheap cell phone.

Try something for me: look around at the other players in my dramas. Anyone else look like Hakkai to you? And, see any war gods lurking about? (I'm still waiting for some guesses on my Saiyuki/Weiß reincarnation theory…)****

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**_Maya_** – Flying tackle of the Bradster, eh? You're braver than Schuldig!****

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**_Akayen_** – Oh, Nagi's a special one, all right. Stay tuned.****

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**_Narijima_** – Thank you! And, no, you're not weird for thinking Shakespeare is fun. It would be weird if you thought _cosplaying_ Shakespeare is fun…****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – Heh heh heh. My Schu-muse smirks dangerously at your Yohji I'd love to get into cosplay, but which outfit? Hmmmm…

**_Bladderwrack_** – Thank you, I was aiming for a crisp, efficient reunion and I'm glad it came through that way. You know all Schuldig wanted to do was to glomp Brad…and slap him silly…and bitch him out…and paw through his carryon bag for cheap souvenirs…or those little bottles of booze you get on airplanes…****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – I'm glad Far creeps you out. He should.****

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**_Lestat_** – I may have to rent "Fear of the Dark" now. I've been on this quest for years, to find "the scariest movie". "Ju-on" is definitely up there, so I'll trust your recommendations. "Blair Witch Project" got to me, but I had to work hard to suspend disbelief – an expensive-as-hell borrowed camcorder, and no cell phone?****

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**_NightMaiden_** – Forgiven. And, thank you. If you ever want to write more than the review box lets you, by all means, I have e-mail and a live journal too.

It does fit, doesn't it? Goes well with the opening credits of "Gluhen", too – black angel wings and all.****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Far is confusing as hell, and that's why I love him. Writing him is such a trip – I try to get a little wired up on sugar and caffeine, then try to read a little philosophy or quantum physics to get in the mood. He's very complicated, and yet so very simple.

Sorry to hear about your friend, I hope things turned out all right. And the rest you've heard in e-mail – thanks again!

**_Eboni_** – You're so welcome! Distractions at work are usually the best kind, and the most desperately needed. I've read some of my favorite fics at work (though, I'm not working there anymore…)

giggle – No, I didn't get canned; it was a temp job.****

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**_Skippys Cat_** – My Farfarello is a Tim Burton fan, which explains a lot.

And if anyone wants to draw Brad in military dress…gimme! restrains the Schu-muse, with difficulty****


	65. 65

**65**

_when your fears subside and shadows still remain_

:Brad:

:Don't ask it. Just…don't.:

I sighed. There were actually half a dozen questions begging to be asked, and he'd just shut out all of them.

We'd been living in the van for nearly a week now. It was starting to smell.

At least we'd found something Nagi could eat, though potato chips and peanut butter were hardly proper nutrition. Still, for a van-dweller, I supposed it could be worse. The boy's color was improving, and his eyes didn't look so hollow.

Farfarello seemed to have wandered into another lucid phase, for which we were all grateful. He commented on the scenery – "Brown." – and the weather – "Dank." – and even managed to startle a laugh out of Nagi twice.

But I still had no idea where we were, where we were going, or what Brad intended to do next. And he still wouldn't tell me.

:Schuldig, you're doing it again.:

I sent an elaborate string of silent multicultural curses his way. Aloud, I said, "Brad, this is crazy. Are you ever going to tell us what you've got planned, or have we become a wandering improv troupe?"

Farfarello chuckled. "Let's do 'Scenes from a Hat' next. I'm fond of that one." His voice had returned to a pleasant lilt, further proof that he was relatively sane for the moment. I was almost starting to think of him as two different people, but I knew that was just an illusion. Far might have many oddnesses about him, but his personality was strictly singular.

Brad ignored us, concentrating on driving through a cold and steady rain. Ever since we'd arrived in France, the weather had been turning more and more sour. I was grateful to have my jacket: it did a good job of retaining body heat, and it smelled like Yohji's cigarettes. I'd realized a few days back that the smoky scent embedded in the leather wasn't my brand. Now I used it to anchor my mood and my sanity.

The problem with that was the smell made me want a goddamn cigarette.

It wasn't like Brad made us sleep outside or anything, but this was still too close to roughing it for my taste. Brad or I would drive for a few hours, letting the other sleep if he could, then switch. We only stopped for fuel and necessities. I had the feeling that pretty soon even those breaks would become scarce. And all this without any clear explanation from our leader.

In spite of this, our loyalty to him remained intact. We still trusted Brad Crawford with our lives.

And yet, we were all getting tired.

Brad parked the van in yet another roadside rest stop. The curtain of rain helped keep us hidden from the main highway, while effectively trapping us inside our vehicle. Our increasingly stinky vehicle.

"Schuldig, you keep watch," Brad stated as he left he driver's seat and half stumbled into the back of the van. "I need some sleep, and you're not fit to drive."

"Like hell I'm not," I snapped reflexively. "I just don't know where the fuck we're going."

Brad paused to look into my eyes. For a moment I thought he was going to slap me. But then he touched my cheek and kissed me softly on the lips. "I'm going to try pulling some visions. I don't want the van to be moving while I do so. And then I'll probably pass out. You know the drill. Keep an eye on those two. And make sure Nagi eats."

I nodded, wanting only to linger in the kiss, to feel his hands upon me. Today his touch evoked a powerful and sad longing that confused me. I felt my face go hot as I realized I was thinking all this while wearing a coat that I could only associate with Yohji.

"It's all right, Schu," Brad murmured, as though hearing my private thoughts. "Just keep watch for a bit. This shouldn't take long."

I slumped into the driver's seat. Next to me, Far was already digging through a bag of groceries. He found a plastic-wrapped sausage of some sort, and tore into it like a starving animal. _No wonder this van smells,_ I thought.

Behind us, Nagi pulled a face and popped open the little window port.

"Hey, chibi, keep an eye on Brad, will you? You know how hard it can hit him when he pushes the Sight."

Nagi rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, Schuldig. And I also know there's nothing we can do to make it easier, during or after."

"And eat something, will you?" I added, ignoring his commentary.

"We don't have anything good."

"We have potatoes," Far reminded him, holding out a bag of ripple chips.

Nagi sighed but took the bag and tore it open with a careful tug. Soft crunching sounds followed, and I presumed he wasn't just mashing the chips up and dropping them to the floor. Some things had to be taken on faith; if I turned to watch him eat, I knew he'd stop out of spite.

A startled shout made me jump; Far half turned with me, a knife materializing in his hand.

Behind us, Brad stared at nothing, panting; sweat beaded across his forehead. His hands had clenched into fists, and he seemed to shrink back against the side of the van.

Far resheathed his knife and stared at me, demanding answers.

Nagi went on eating his chips, with slow, methodical movements.

I cautiously scanned the area, though I knew Brad hadn't been attacked. This was a vision pulled in and landed against its will, and like a fish it thrashed against its captor. Brad would pay for this, with a headache and probably nausea, too, but he was the one who deemed it necessary, and I'd learned long ago never to argue with him about his gift.

"It's just him," I told Far, hoping this hadn't spooked him back into an episode.

"I'm glad it's not me," Far murmured, his voice soft and thoughtful. "I wouldn't want to read minds, but I wouldn't want to do what he does, either."

"You know, back in Rosenkreuz, the students would talk about the talents," I said, now also thoughtful. "While no one was really comfortable with their own gifts, it turned out that not a single person would be happier with a trade-off. The telepaths don't want to move things, the telekinetics don't want to read minds. And nobody wants to see the future."

"I'm a telekinetic, and I read minds," Nagi stated in bland rebuttal.

"Team link doesn't count," Far said as though he were the referee calling the point null.

If that kid weren't the most literal minded little bastard, I didn't know who'd get the prize. "Chibi, what I'm saying is no matter what your gift is, Brad's sucks worse."

"Yet it's a part of him, like his blood," Farfarello mused. "I think he'd die without it. The thing that intrigues me is, does he really trust it, though? It's fickle, a bad-tempered animal that doesn't always come when called and usually bites."

"But it's never led us wrong," I offered.

Farfarello fixed me with a one-eyed stare. "Hasn't it?"

I scowled back at him. "What do you mean, Far?"

"You know he keeps most to himself. What he Sees. You know most Seers go insane from their 'gift'. What's it done to him, I wonder?"

"Crawford isn't crazy," Nagi stated. "We might be, but he isn't."

"They say I am," Far whispered. "Are you saying you're like me, then?"

Nagi looked away. "Perhaps."

"All right, where did this all come from?" I asked. I didn't like this turn of events, especially while Brad was helpless in the grip of the future.

"If Crawford's Sight must drive him mad, then we must be mad to follow him. Because we clearly aren't stupid. Why else follow a madman, unless you have the same destination in mind? So to speak," Far added with a little smile.

"We follow him because we are Schwarz," Nagi growled, anger coloring his cheeks. "We belong to the team, and the team belongs to Crawford." He glanced at me as though seeking confirmation.

"Do we follow blind, then?" Farfarello asked in a serpent's whisper. "We are his and that's the end of it? It might be enough for Schuldig, but what about you, Nagi? Why do you follow? And are your eyes open or closed?"

"Do we have to discuss this here? Now?" Nagi countered. "It seems…bad, somehow. Wrong. Like you're trying to see how much we doubt our leader. I don't like it."

Cold rain slashed against the shell of the van, setting a counterpoint to the heated words within. I started to say something, then stopped myself. Heated words? Were they really? Nagi was literal by nature; Far, rhetorical. "Hey, guys, take a break," I told them. "I think you're each missing the other's point, here."

"What, now you're Gandhi?" Nagi mumbled, glaring at me.

"Look, Far isn't talking mutiny." I regarded the Irishman with my best no-nonsense scowl. "Are you? Because it sounds to me that we've all had our doubts and fears, and until now nobody's bothered to voice any of them. If we don't talk about this, it'll fester and build until it does become something nasty."

"Exactly so," Far said with a nod. "Personally, I've thought Crawford was crazy ever since he came into my holding cell and unlocked my restraints." He looked at his window, the rain effectively preventing him from looking out. "I thought I was going to die there. Rosenkreuz lab rat. And then the door opened, and in walked this arrogant American bastard in a fancy suit. And he looked into my eyes and sat down beside me. Just like that. He offered me a cookie. Oatmeal. And he unlocked the manacles so I could eat it." Farfarello laughed softly. "He wasn't afraid, and that meant one of three things. I could tell from his eyes that he wasn't stupid, so that one's ruled out. But I could never quite decide which of the other two it was, or a mix of both. Either he's just that strong, or he's crazier than I am."

I looked back at our leader again. Brad lay sprawled in the belly of the van; I couldn't tell if he was sleeping or meditating. Maybe he'd start to snore and I'd figure it out. Returning to the conversation, I said, "He found me in Berlin. I was fifteen." I paused, debating how much to tell them. It was odd, talking about all this now. We'd been a team for several years and never discussed our more personal moments. But then, we'd been Esset. Now we were only men. "They'd thrown me in the Pit one time too many," I murmured. "I'd had enough. I ran. I didn't stop until I reached Berlin."

Farfarello nodded. I could tell he was tasting the tension in my voice and filling in the gaps for himself. This was a good thing; I really couldn't explain how I'd gotten out, or what that stint in the Pit had really done to my psyche. And I didn't want to scare Nagi.

"I didn't have any money, I had to steal to eat, but I was away from there. Brad was on a Retrieval team. Apparently he requested the case after I'd been gone nearly three months." I grinned at the memory. "Eighty-two days! Set a fucking record! They couldn't find me, and I was right under their noses. Of course, I was just as determined to not be found as they were to catch me. I just didn't count on Brad Crawford." My eyes stung as the scene replayed itself in my head. I swallowed down the memory; my throat burned with it as I said, "He took me back. They gave me to him for his new team because he makes the voices quiet; I'd be useless anywhere else. He promised me that he would be my way out. He could have done…many things. He never did. And he's never lied to me."

I let the words trail away, my thoughts drifting after them like mist that follows rain. I'd been a thief, a con-artist, and a cheap fuck. Brad Crawford had changed all of that. I was still trying to figure out just what he'd changed it to.

Many seconds slid past, silent save for the rain. Nagi heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. "You already know my story."

"Maybe, under the circumstances, it would help if you told us anyway," Far suggested. "Remind us why we followed him to the end of the world once already." He frowned and added, "Maybe twice, now."

"He saved my life," Nagi stated quite matter-of-factly. "He took me in, cared for me. Then he took me to Rosenkreuz." His indigo eyes flashed dangerously as he said the name. He paused and took a deep breath, then continued. "He always came back for me. I know he needs me, and I know I need him. The same goes for Schuldig, and even you, Farfarello. Crawford needs us. And we need him."

Far looked intently at Nagi, and I couldn't identify the expression on the Irishman's face. Wistful? Sad? Unexpected, certainly. "And what else?" he asked, voice gentle. "Do we need each other, then? Are you ready to say that?"

"I never said we didn't," Nagi mumbled, looking away from him, glancing past me, then staring at his own hands.

A tiny smile creased the corner of Far's mouth. "I guess that settles it, then."

I wasn't sure what had just happened. But I was pretty certain that asking about it would get me nowhere. I shrugged it off as Far being Far and Nagi being Nagi. "So does that take care of lingering doubt, then?" I asked them both. "We're all in this together, and it's all because of him. And to be honest, I don't think he'd willingly leave any of us behind," I added, glancing at Nagi. "Brad wouldn't just give up. It's not his style. So here's the question: no matter how weird things get, will we follow him?"

"Aye," Far said, nodding for emphasis. "Nowhere else to go, after all. Besides, you need someone who understands the twisty stuff, and that would be me."

"By 'twisty stuff', do you mean philosophy or physics?" I asked with a smile.

Farfarello shook his head. When he spoke, his tone was quite serious. "I mean Rosenkreuz. I mean ugliness and horror. Things he can't willingly See. I'm not afraid to look. I already know them by name."

I clasped his hand and said, "Well put, my friend. You keep on being his shield and his advisor. Be his Merlin."

"Ah, no," Far grinned, "he's the Merlin. I'm but one of his owls."

I turned toward Nagi, who seemed to be ignoring us now. "How about you, chibi? Settled any doubts?"

"No. I didn't have any."

I sighed. He was being single-minded again. "Not about Crawford, I already promised you on that," I stated. "I meant about us."

Nagi graced me with a tiny smile and said, "I know."

* * *

**A/N:**

_when your fears subside and shadows still remain_

"November Rain", Guns 'N Roses (_Use Your Illusion I_). Fitting quote for a heart-to-heart discussion about fears and shadows. This chapter has been a long time coming. It shows much about the dynamic that is Schwarz. The separation seems to have intensified their need for each other, and finally broken down the barriers between them. Just which barriers are breaking remains to be seen. I think of this as a Nagi chapter, though Farfarello has many more lines in it. My Nagi says more through his silence than in words, but when Far manages to goad him into talking, the results are usually very deep. Odd, how Farfarello's fascination with Nagi and Nagi's fear of him can sometimes evaporate and allow them to interact as almost friends.

Farfarello's reference to "Scenes from a Hat" comes from a televised improv comedy series called "Whose Line Is It, Anyway?" It originated in England (most truly hilarious comedy does), and was co-opted by America (most truly hilarious comedy is). "Scenes" is a skit where the host pulls slips of paper from a hat and the comedians have to go with whatever he reads off those papers. It's one of the most madcap random routines they do, and it's no wonder Far goes there when thinking about Brad's increasingly odd and random orders.

Speaking of Farfarello and Brad, yes, he did have two eyes when they met. In my world, Far lost his eye in the time between leaving Germany and the timeline of the TV series. He would have been in Japan, working for Takatori – a man with a violent temper and a fondness for golf… (That and other things will be explained in his character development essay, whenever it gets around to writing itself. In the meantime, check my LJ for the Brad Crawford essay.)

Oh, and yes, having Far offering "potatoes" to Nagi was a bit of humor on the Irish. I'm Irish. I can do that.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Poco-poco_** – Nagi has some interesting times ahead of him. Too bad they involve chipmunks.****

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**_Bladderwrack_** – "…and you know you're in dark and messy places when you're using someone like Schuldig as an Arthur Dent." LOL, so true!****

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**_Shadowgirl_** – to Yohji – Do what more? Heh heh heh

Yes, Schu would definitely drool at the James Bond getup…and the car… sigh

As for the war on Esset, let me borrow a quote from "Star Trek" (paraphrased, I probably don't have it exact anymore): "In the struggle between good and evil, evil usually wins unless good is very, very careful."

And a Shrek moment about glass coffins: "Dead broad off the table!"****

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**_May_** – grin If you had any idea where this is going…you'd be Crawford. Of course, that would mean you're occasionally getting some from Schuldig…****

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**_Lestat_** – As Dougan from "Saiyuki Requiem" would say, bipo bipo! Point: Lestat, for dunking Todou in the tank. Kiko-muse grabs the keyboard – "Hey, Berger…think there's sharks in that tank?" writer regains keyboard, with difficulty and a donut

Yes, I've seen it. Got it undubbed and with a fairly bad sub-job originally, then got the American release. OMG, just shoot me now. The bad sub was at least forgivable. I hate it when the English-version voice actors can't pronounce important things, like "Rosenkreuz" and "Fujimiya"… Anyway, in the canon, between the TV show and Gluhen, Far meets this witch named Sally and, well, I'm not using that part of the canon anyway because it really made no sense. (Drama CDs are, in my opinion, strictly AU because they're so out-there.)

"Silent Hill", eh? I'll keep my eyes open. Do you know who's doing it?****

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**_Eternal-Darkness_** – glomps back Thank you! (By the way, I've got this t-shirt that says 'baka gaijin' in kanji, and my Schu-muse insists it says 'I rock!'.)

Oh, Brad doesn't like having to share either. But there's more to it than meets the eye, and Schu barely knows half the story. As for the twu wuv thing…are you sure he didn't say "to bleve", which means "to bluff"?****

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**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – It's hard to enforce dietary variety when you have a sullen Nagi and a picky Schuldig to deal with. Far, on the other hand, will eat anything. Unfortunately.****

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**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Thank you, I'm happy to be back with my muses (though lately they've been taking off in weird directions).

Fries that don't rot, LOL! We have some seagulls around here that eat at McD's and Taco Hell, and I'm sure that when they croak they won't rot either…

"(wow, that is creepy how the sky just gets dark, like really really dark in less than a min, another storm is going to pass though)" OMG, that is too weird – and you were talking about Nagi, too…oops, spoiler! Heh heh heh…****

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**_Akayen_** – Wait till he has to deal with Farfarello's cooking…****

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**_Eboni_** – "Schuldig probably wouldn't be able to tell a dream from reality if the person believes the dream is real or the person himself cannot tell, so he's not much help." Exactly so. Schuldig is like a lie detector machine: if the subject thinks it's true, Schu has no way of knowing if it's accurate. That's why Farfarello is so, well, interesting to him.

"But... would he be able to sense a psychic attack if he was in the vicinity and conscious at the time of it?" Yes, he can usually spot an attack – if it's from another telepath. When you start getting into telempathy and dreams, it starts to get really hairy. (At least Schu knows those could be tricky, since he had a couple of buddies at Rosenkreuz who could do those things…)

**_Skippys Cat_** – "Programming to make sure he doesn't eat things that might actually make him stronger?" Again, very astute. Those controls are the only thing keeping Nagi feeling safe with his gift, yet they're only making things worse…

And, yeah, I wouldn't want to be Brad either.****


	66. 66

**66**

_I see storms on the horizon_

"Here, Brad." I handed him a couple of headache pills and a bottle of Coke.

He looked at the drink in his hand, an odd expression on his face.

I frowned and blurted out the first thing that came into my mind: "Nani?"

Brad laughed, breaking the spell. He shook his head and said, "Never mind." He unscrewed the cap and washed down the medicine with the tepid cola.

Far watched him, disgusted. "You know that stuff will kill you, right? It's flavored battery acid."

"They use it to clean blood off the highway after an accident," Nagi observed, his expression deadpan.

Brad closed his eyes and drank some more. Then he checked his watch and sighed. "Only two hours. Damn."

"You need more sleep," I told him. "I can drive for a while."

"Let me see the map."

Far located the roadmap under our groceries and offered it to Brad. Our leader studied it a few moments, then said, "Schuldig, get us lost. Drive around for a few hours. Try to find us a campsite that isn't mud." He handed the map back to Farfarello then sat back with a groan.

This was one of the bad headaches. It was one thing for the visions to come to Brad, but when he had to go looking for them they wreaked havoc on his body. I knew I'd stay worried until he slept it off. "Far, why don't you trade places with Brad? Let him have the seat for a while." The van was of the utility variety, with only two seats and a vast wasteland in the back. There were straps, but they made a poor substitute for seatbelts; for a sleeper it was like being in the space shuttle but without the benefit of no gravity.

Far clambered into the back and helped Brad into the seat. Nagi watched without a sound.

Once Brad was secure and the seat tilted back to a good sleeping angle, I started up the van and set about getting lost in the French countryside. Or, rather, getting more lost than we already were: in my opinion, any place without clearly designated bathrooms and petro stops counted as being lost.

Behind me, I could hear Farfarello trying to engage Nagi in a game, and I smiled. Nagi hated games, and Far wouldn't take no for an answer. But at least he wasn't trying to attack the kid today.

"How can you play 'I Spy' without a window, Farfarello?" Nagi growled, resorting to logic. "We both know every smelly thing in this van already, what challenge would it be?"

"We could use the back windows," Far replied.

"What, stand up? In a moving vehicle? With Schuldig driving?"

There was a pause, then Far said, "You're right. That's a bad idea."

"Hey!" I retorted. "Either of you want a turn driving this rustbucket? Keep it down back there." If things kept on this way for long, I'd turn into a soccer mom.

Beside me, Brad slept, oblivious to our bickering. I reached a hand over and felt his forehead. No fever, that was a good sign. If it hit hard enough to raise his temperature, I'd have to wake him up and force sports drink into him until he damn near gagged on it. Either that, or he'd wind up dehydrated, as if his body were burning fuel at an alarming rate.

Not for the first time I reflected on all I'd ever heard of seers and prophets, outside of Esset. They had it hard, but it didn't usually wreck them out this bad. Then again, most of them ended up blind or mad, or both. That part held true even at Rosenkreuz: Brad was the only male precognitive who still had two brain cells to rub together at age 27. 28, actually; his birthday had either just passed or was just around the corner. I wasn't sure of the date, but I knew it was late November.

Well, if his training had been anything like mine, they would have taken his natural gift and forced it into their mold, breaking the good parts and substituting dogma. No wonder it hurt him.

After a few hours of listening to Far and Nagi debate some obscure puzzle – it was either physics or philosophy, damned if I could tell the difference – I decided we'd wandered around enough. I found a likely spot to park, a wooded area near farmlands, with no real roads and no other vehicles in sight. I risked a scan and verified that there weren't any other people close by. "Okay, guys," I said, killing the engine and turning in my seat, "frankly I don't give two shits whether it's the same damn statue or not. We're here, so let's get this van aired out."

As the other two opened the back doors and set up our meager camping gear, I gently shook Brad awake. "Brad? We're camping for a while. Can you wake up for some food?"

"Yeah, Schu, I'm awake," he mumbled. A huge yawn punctuated this statement. "At least the headache's gone."

I was relieved. The times he woke with the headache still intact were especially brutal, and usually left him puking.

Brad took stock of our supplies, nodding in satisfaction. We were almost out of everything, and he thought this was good? I couldn't help but wonder, but I knew better than to ask.

Dutiful soldiers, we refrained from asking Crawford about his recent visions. He would tell us, or not, only when he chose; questions wouldn't speed him up. Instead, we improvised a meal out of our dwindling groceries and waited.

Dusk thickened through the trees, bringing with it the first breath of winter chill. We'd been lucky so far, but tonight would be cold. Without discussing it, we all agreed to sleep in the van, though the smell of it was becoming atrocious. Brad seemed no nearer to talking, so I guided the team back into our makeshift hovel and pulled out the blankets. They were small and thin, but they would provide a little extra warmth.

I was stopped by a hand upon my arm. Brad took one of the blankets from me and hung it across the back of the van, making a curtain between us and the front seats. "Farfarello," he called softly, "would you mind sleeping in the driver's seat? If there's any trouble, get us out of here. But I don't foresee anything tonight."

Far let himself back out of the van and went around to the driver's side door. I heard him get in and tip the seat back a little.

Brad took a second blanket and curtained off the back part of the van. "Schuldig, give Nagi your jacket."

I frowned; both Brad's and my blankets were now otherwise employed. Then I thought about Nagi sleeping next to the cargo doors, and shrugged out of the leather blazer. "Here, chibi," I said, handing it under the curtain. "You have your own blanket, right?"

"Yes, Schuldig. Do I have to wear this? It smells like an ashtray."

"Wear it, Nagi," Brad said, his eyes smiling. "That's an order."

I nearly laughed aloud.

Brad sat down and pulled me to him. The warmth of his body amazed me, there in the chilly van. This was no Sight fever. He looked into my eyes, his soul naked. Something he had seen hurt him, or frightened him, and he was reaching out to me for balance. No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to us: he was still reeling from it.

He cupped my face, his hands gentle. Slowly he leaned in and kissed me, mouth open and soft, and very nearly trembling. Instinctively I opened my mind and senses to him, and gasped against his lips at what I found.

The desperation pulled me under, dragged me back, until I felt the frantic surge that had always accompanied sex at Rosenkreuz. Two people hungry for contact, needing each other more than water, coming together while the clock ticked away and the threat of discovery increased with every heartbeat. In the silence they would meet, and touch, and try to cram an entire lifetime into ten slender minutes.

Reflected in Brad's eyes I saw those grey halls, the empty classrooms, the stolen moments. He had never engaged with me there, but now we were both replaying some ancient drama from our youth. We had both come of age in that cold and sterile place, and though he hid his better, we both were scarred by it.

His hands unfastened my pants, and mine fumbled to follow suit. In moments we had freed each other from our clothing, or as much of it as we absolutely needed to: shirts untucked, pants undone and tugged down off the hips. He kissed me deeply as his hand began to stroke.

I gripped him and tugged; he was already fully hard and nearly ready to come. This was strange for him, to fall into the past and let it color his present. We were recreating something that neither of us wanted to keep, yet neither was able to discard. I wondered how far he would go with it.

Then he rolled me onto my back and tugged my pants further down. Out of habit I raised my hips a little, but Brad paused and lowered his head, catching me in his mouth. He sucked firmly, his tongue dancing around the tip as if daring me to make a sound.

The past fell away, and I knew I was in a panel van in the middle of France with Nagi on one side of a makeshift curtain and Far behind another. I would remain silent, but not for Rosenkreuz.

Brad took me quickly, sinking in to the hilt with a soft gasp. He looked younger, a little lost, desperate in the Rosenkreuz way and determined to find a moment of joy in spite of it. He leaned into me, and I managed to get my hobbled legs around his ass and pull him in deeper. Brad bit his lower lip; I could feel how close he was, his urgency seeped through my shields and coaxed my own erection to ticklish hardness.

Though I kept a tight rein on my telepathy, my lesser gift of empathy lashed out, making Brad gasp aloud. He thrust harder, his rhythm becoming a little ragged as he dealt not only with his own sensations, but a whisper of mine as well. With no warning Brad came, his mouth open in a silent shout. His pleasure overwhelmed me, and I came too, biting the back of my wrist to keep from crying out.

He lingered there, the last pulses of ecstasy flitting through us both with little breathless gasps. Then he leaned down and kissed me tenderly, and lingered there as well.

My gift hadn't hurt him this time. And it hadn't hurt me. Part of my mind thought that the time spent in another's bed had given me a little more control, that just maybe I was safe now. Another part of my mind just kept quiet.

We slept in each other's arms, our shirts draped over us for warmth. That was one big difference between now and Rosenkreuz: there, you never actually slept with your playmate. Unless it was a teacher, of course, and then you usually wouldn't want to.

The next morning dawned clear and chill. There was a fine layer of frost on the ground and the windshield, and our breath hung foggy in the air.

Nagi borrowed my lighter to start a cook fire. If he knew what we'd been doing the night before, he made no sign.

Over a cup of coffee and a candy bar, I asked Brad if he felt better.

Brad smiled at me, his face somehow even more handsome than usual. "Yes, I do."

Farfarello looked up from his breakfast. "So, are you going to tell us what you Saw?"

"Yes," Brad replied. "I am."

I blinked. "Brad?"

"It's all right," he told me, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. "I think I've finally figured out a way to do this. Besides, we're up against some pretty ugly odds if I don't. Our hunters will be counting on my silence. I won't give it to them."

There was a long pause, during which time each of us braced himself visibly for what was about to be revealed. I had the feeling that Brad would speak in riddles and half-truths, like oracles of old, and we would have to put it together for ourselves. This could be very dangerous if we guessed wrongly.

"I'm not leaving this to chance, Schuldig," Brad murmured, no doubt picking up on my concerns. "This is the one thing they're not expecting me to do."

"They who?" Far asked. "Is it Esset? Or did it die at the tower?"

"No, it didn't die," Brad told him, "but it's not the same as it was. It can never be the same again. There are levels within that organization, and several of those have been stripped away and discarded, I think as a direct result of the death of the Elders. The Elders kept certain people in power, and now those people have been decimated and new rulers have emerged."

I suppressed a shudder. "Anyone we know?"

Brad fixed me with a stare. "What do you think?" Before I could say anything else, he raised a hand for my silence. "We're up against someone who knows me almost as well as you do, Schuldig. In some ways maybe even better. That's why the mice: he knew it would work. And he'll be banking on my silence." His voice fell soft as he added, "He always did."

Nagi and Far exchanged a worried look, then both turned their expectant gazes upon me.

I hated thinking about Rosenkreuz. The power games, the brutality, the rampant insanity just below the surface – it made me nauseous, but I knew I had to figure this out. Like every other layer within Esset, Rosenkreuz had had its own governing body, a few select men and women who oversaw the facility's operation. But those bureaucrats didn't live there. If they could manage it, they never even set foot in that place. No, Rosenkreuz was an asylum where the patients were in charge, a laboratory where the mad scientist was as damned as his creations. Far had compared it to "The Island of Dr. Moreau" if the animals had been sadistic twists.

So who was Moreau?

While Schwarz had been stationed there, three men had ruled the facility with brutal efficiency. Of those three, two were dead, executed by Schwarz for their crimes.

I looked into Brad's eyes.

He nodded.

"So what do we do?" I asked him.

Rather than answer me directly, Brad addressed the team. "Gentlemen, I need to know if you're in this for the long haul. I'm giving you the chance to leave, if you want to take it. Pretty soon you won't have that option."

"I am Schwarz," Nagi replied instantly, his head high. "I won't leave you, Crawford."

Brad's eyes seemed to darken for a moment, then he smiled and nodded. "I know you won't, Nagi."

"Same here," Far stated. "I won't run."

"Thank you, Farfarello. Your valor has never been in question."

All of a sudden the situation reminded me of liegemen swearing fealty to their king. I swallowed, trying to separate my thoughts from Far's before I did something dramatic like kiss Brad's hand. My hesitation brought a scowl from Nagi; I waved it off. "I'm your second, Brad. You know that. You'd have a hard time _making_ me leave."

A shadow crossed his expression, leaving a ghost of something behind. Then he took a deep breath and nodded, reaching for my hand. His grip was warm as he clasped my hand in both of his and said, "You're right. I would."

"Now that we're a team again, what do we do next?" Nagi asked, his tone impatient. "Do we keep running? Or do we turn and fight them?"

"First," Brad stated, "we have to get their attention. As you've all noticed, there seems to be little interest coming from other sectors of Esset besides Rosenkreuz. Our alma mater was not the only place for team training, as we all know quite well. Prague actually has a higher rate of placement in the field."

"That's because everyone at Rosenkreuz dies," Far murmured, not quite joking.

"Omega teams are a Rosenkreuz specialty," Brad reminded us, "but Prague has its own elite unit. In fact, every facility has its equivalent of the Omega training. For some reason, Esset has turned a blind eye to our existence – no offense, Farfarello."

"None taken."

"I have Seen that for the next few months, the only ones actively hunting us will be from Rosenkreuz. This, along with other visions and information I've gathered, suggests that so far all the hunters have been from that same facility. It's one man's war, while the machine that is Esset continues grinding on toward its own goals." Brad looked into my eyes and said, "Those goals are unacceptable."

I drew in a sharp breath, Brad's meaning finally coming clear. "We _could_ escape," I whispered. "We could hide from Rosenkreuz, or fend off their attempts, indefinitely, couldn't we, Brad? That's why you asked if we would stay with you: you know it's not necessary."

"But it is necessary," Brad stated. "Not to our survival, but to the survival of the human race as we now know it."

"You're a crusader, now, are you?" Far asked, his expression sharp to match the mocking words. "And why would you want to go and do that? What were you always telling us about humans being sheep, Crawford?"

"While in Esset territory, of course I talked the talk," Brad replied. "And yes, most people are like sheep: too willing to be kept in exchange for safety and food. But that doesn't make them any less human, or deserving of basic dignity. Esset intends to strip humanity of its spirit, of its will, and create a new breed that is, for all intents and purposes, sheep."

"I've heard they can clone sheep," Far murmured, watching Brad closely.

Brad shook his head. "Those aren't the ones they want."

"Could they?" Nagi asked, his tone thick with disgust. "I mean, there's no question that they would, but can they?"

"You know they collect DNA samples from all the students at Rosenkreuz," Brad reminded us. "How long do you think they've been trying?"

"So what are we supposed to do about it?" I blurted, fear and anger warring for dominance. "How can four men stop something like this from happening, if that's Esset's ultimate goal? They want a docile populous and a predictable army – they already have the first! How the fuck can we stop them?"

"We can," Brad told us, "because it won't be just the four of us doing it. We're the catalyst, the force that will set things in motion."

Farfarello unleashed his uncanny prescience once again: "We're the bait."

"In a manner of speaking."

"So you're setting us on this quest for the good of humanity?" Far asked, his eye gleaming.

"Will you take that as a good enough reason?"

Far stared at him, unblinking. "No."

Brad smiled, not quite smirking. "How about revenge?"

Nagi's eyes widened, then grew thoughtful.

Far nodded sagely. "One man's war, indeed."

The possibilities swept over me. "Brad," I whispered, "tell me more. Make me understand."

Brad's eyes took on a distant quality, and he winced against the returning headache as he forced open the Sight. "The storm is coming," he murmured. "It is the most important fight in this age of the world, and it must be won. All together and each alone, we will stand, and we will not fail. You must be strong. It will hurt, but you must not lose faith. I've Seen that it will not kill you. Esset cannot kill you, and Esset cannot win. He will never stop. He has a date with a bullet, one he has broken twice already. It will come, it always comes. 'Ware the snow. Death comes in white…" His voice trailed off as the vision loosed its hold on him.

"That was interesting," Far said calmly. "Never seen him do that before. Have you?"

"I haven't," Nagi chimed in, leaning away from our leader.

I got out the headache pills.

Brad came to in that blinky way he did when a vision was particularly powerful. He took the pills with a swallow of Coke. "Schuldig, you'll have to fill me in on what I said while I was out. That was a technique I haven't used since training. Now I remember why," he added with a grimace. Then his eyes went quizzical, as though he had just remembered something interesting, or puzzling. "The storm," Brad whispered. "It's already started."

"Does that mean it's too late to back out of it?" Far asked.

Brad nodded. "I'm sorry, Farfarello. But that seems to be the case."

"Then don't ask us again if we plan on staying. You shouldn't have asked the first time."

Brad bowed his head. "Gomen nasai." Then he consulted his watch. "Gentlemen, if you please, gather your belongings. We'll be acquiring a new vehicle soon."

Rather than grumble about going on foot for a while, Nagi gave thanks that we were leaving the van with the zoo-house smell.

I reclaimed my jacket and my pack. Brad packed up the remains of our groceries while the other two cleared out anything else we might have left behind by accident. Within three minutes we were ready to go.

Brad checked his gun and settled it in his shoulder holster. The military uniform he'd worn on the airplane lay strewn in the bed of the van; he pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket.

We watched, mildly perplexed, as our leader took the little piece of fabric and walked around the van. Then he unscrewed the fuel cap and dipped the handkerchief in. Without looking he held his hand out behind him. "Schuldig, your lighter."

I put it on his palm, watched as he calmly flicked it on and touched the flame to the dry end of the handkerchief.

Brad turned without hurry and strode toward us. "Let's do this."

We followed his lead, not allowing ourselves to run because we trusted him, and Brad Crawford was not running.

When we reached the nearest path, the van exploded with a deep-throated roar. Nagi reflexively set up a telekinetic barrier against any falling fragments, though he winced as he did so.

Brad put a hand on his shoulder. "No need, but thank you." Then he drew his gun.

A car had just turned toward us from the dirt road and paused as the driver took in the splendid fireball behind us.

Brad aimed his gun at the driver's head. "Out. Now."

The motorist fled into the woods. Brad let him go. With the precision of a drill team we checked the car for hidden threats or other passengers and then helped ourselves. To me, Brad said, "You're driving."

"You wanted to get their attention," I observed as I guided the car back toward civilization. "Think it worked?"

Brad smirked and pushed his glasses up into position. "Of that I have no doubts."

* * *

**A/N:**

_I see storms on the horizon_

"Citadel", CXS _Ethernaut_. Find the lyrics on my website and in my livejournal: the entire thing is important here, and tells much about the story as a whole. This is an unusual chapter, with much power. I consider it a pivotal chapter, and you should too.

Far's puzzle is technically a question of material constitution, a philosophy exercise. If you have a statue and part of it breaks off, is it the same statue? What if you repair it with a new part? It's quite possible for two otherwise reasonable people to spend days debating this and never find a satisfying solution. I suspect that Far and Nagi already have their own consensus after four hours.

A Dictionary Moment (because sometimes precision really matters):

_decimate_ – to destroy every tenth part; Esset is not as damaged as we would like it to be.

_won't_ & _would_ – come from the word "will", which, strictly speaking, implies intent but not fact.

* * *

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Odious feline (Katt)_** – Hi, nice to hear from you! At the moment it's just a hobby, but it's my dream to turn it into a career. I've got original fictions rolling about my head and cluttering up my computer, I just haven't gotten anything submission-ready yet.

As far as I know, someone has to complain to get a writer banned; FanFic encourages a "snitch" atmosphere. I don't know if the moderators even read the offending items or just yank them. So far I've been lucky: the bad-content fairy hasn't smacked me yet. But I'm going to be pulling my stories from here and posting them on my website and live journal in the very near future, because I have some scenes coming up that I don't want to worry about.

You could try reworking your stories, but I don't recommend that. It's just not right – do not compromise your vision because the word police tell you to! Find another venue: MediaMiner, AFF, or a free live journal account.

**_NightMaiden_** – LOL! "Whose Line – Home Edition" with cosplayers! I wanna be Drew Carey!

****

**_Lestat_** – For the drama CDs, check out HopeForlorn. They have some of the translations and links to retailers.

But if Schu's past was dealt with in the canon, what would we have to play with?****

****

**_Poco-poco_** – Chipmunks.

Oh, Schu's missing real name is something I've touched on in my livejournal - ever see "Spirited Away"? The idea there is that by stealing someone's true name the witch gains power over them. I do have my own idea, and it's findable in the soundtrack portion of my website (the address is in my profile). Not to be too coy about it, but it may turn into a plot point later on.****

****

**_Bladderwrack_** – Yes, chipmunks.****

****

**_Shadowgirl_** – I have it on good authority that doing THAT is much easier if you practice yoga regularly…

Lemonade, eh? toasts with the glass

Even though Far is crazy, he'd still be a pretty fun friend. Just make sure you have one of those animal tranquilizer rifles handy at all times. (Those would be a little harsh to use on a chipmunk, though.)

And Far does understand more about his team than his teammates suspect. He's becoming sort of my Greek Chorus here…

"crazy people think other people are crazy, but if I admit that I'm crazy, then I'm on another level entirely." I love that! It's so appropriate.

And, Crawford has been through things that would leave anyone insane, not to mention what he's Seen of the future. It's a toss-up which is worse: to See something coming and be unable to stop it, or to be totally blindsided by something that slipped under his radar.****

****

**_Akayen_** – grin Oh, he's an inventive chef in my world, too. Maybe TOO inventive.****

****

**_DSC_** – Thank you, thank you! And you're exactly on about Far being the most dangerous. He has depth to him that has only been hinted at, and his true motives are still hidden.

As for him only speaking when he has something important to say, reminds me of the urban legend of a child everyone thought was retarded because he never learned to talk. He grew up silent, and one day on his 60th birthday, he starts talking. His family asks why he never talked before, and he tells them he just didn't have anything to say.

"Pity that Schu and thus the reader isn't quite getting it yet, heh." Yes, heh. grins an Evil!Author grin

In my opinion, every so-called crazy person has something crucial to say about the world. No one is 'just a nutter', and it's a shame that the world conditions people to expect so little from the mad. It used to be that those we would now call insane were once the shamans and wise women of the tribe…****

****

**_May_** – As for tripping Schuldig, ever see the Daffy Duck as Robin Hood cartoon? Trip it, trip it, trip it…trip it up and down!****

****

**_Eboni_** – I'm aiming for a whiff of realism, and hilarity in the face of chaos is one of the most real-life things you can do to a character.

And, as far as "lighting up the van", one can't help but wonder if the methane served as an accelerant in this case…

Schu is still trying to quit smoking, we haven't seen him light up (there we go with that phrase again) in a while, but I'm sure he's sneaking them.

As for side stories about their Rosenkreuz experiences before Schwarz, those will probably start writing themselves once I get a couple of my other fics under control. Brad's story is coming along well – it's going to be moving from here to my website and live journal, though, due to content. I'll try to make the transition as painless as possible. Both web addresses are in my profile, check either for updates and details.

"damn Texas heat" – no kidding, I left Oklahoma several years ago and don't miss the weather one bit. 100+ from May to September, with heat index in the lethal range? I'll take blizzards anytime!

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – A lot happened in this one, too. smile

At this point, Yohji would be…tries to get brain into the future of "The Rain Doesn't Grieve" and see… gulp sweatdrop Something…interesting. Yes, that would be the word.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Cool, I may have a weird muse blog coming up soon.

To paraphrase Siggy Freud: sometimes rain is just rain.

grin No, I don't think we're doing the weird foreshadowing thing again. Try wearing hematite, it's good at warding off negativity. Though, it is metallic – might act like a lightning rod if your karma is off…

Schu is a scatterbrain in conversation, mainly because he's a telepath. But then again, he'd be the first to tell you that, since blond is the preferred color in Germany, the "ditzy" ones are the redheads (in his world, anyway).****

****

**_Skippys Cat_** – "Screwed" and "hilarious" go together too well, in real life and in fiction. Many disasters have people laughing inappropriately, and if they didn't laugh, they'd be puking from the stress.

You and Brad think along the same lines. Yes, it was about time for him to tell them something, anything, no matter how much was foresight and how much simple logic. He had to sort out which was which for his own sanity first.

Schu just knows Far that well.

No, we probably don't want to know exactly what that vision was…****


	67. 67

**67**

_it ain't so groovy when you're screaming in the night "let me out of this cheap 'B' movie"_

Paris. Capital of France, jewel of Europe, home of art and history.

And fucking crowded.

The press of minds all around me was making me a little claustrophobic. Even within Crawford's quiet, I still knew they were out there, waiting for my shields to slip just a fraction and let the multitudes in. Unlike Japan, the petty wants and worries of the locals here came in a language I knew and couldn't easily ignore. The weight of humanity hung over me like a summer storm, and Brad was my only shelter.

The closer we got to the center of Paris, the more I became aware of a vague and uncertain longing. Something was missing, but I couldn't pin it down.

"Remember, once we know that Esset proper has us on its radar," Brad was saying, "we will have to dodge not only their searchers but the ones from Rosenkreuz itself. With any luck the two factions will foul each other and solve our problems for us."

"Any idea how long this will take, Crawford?" Far asked. "Will we ever be able to stop?"

"I don't know," Brad replied. "But if they don't manage to cripple each other, we will have to seek them both out in time. As I've said, Schwarz has become the catalyst; the future is unclear as to what part, exactly, we are to play beyond that."

"At least the trip will be interesting," Farfarello murmured, and I could see him in the rearview mirror turning to look out the window.

Nagi fidgeted in his seat and asked, "Crawford, have you Seen us actually fighting Esset again, or just setting them up like the last time?" I had the distinct feeling the kid was itching for a fight, and resented Weiß and necessity for taking two of the three Elders off our hands.

"Both, Nagi. In time, you will have your chance."

Again that feeling of wanting stole over me, only this time it left me fantasizing…about pancakes. "Brad?"

"What, Schuldig?" Brad asked, turning in his seat to look at me.

I cleared my throat, unaccountably embarrassed. "Can we get some pancakes?" The craving was beyond question now.

Brad looked like he was about to answer when his eyes went wide and the rear window exploded into the cab. A stray bullet burned through a strand of my hair before punching a hole through the windshield and rendering my view a spider webbed fantasy in glass.

"Scheiße!" I heard myself shout as I ducked down in my seat and hit the accelerator. I felt an impact against the back of my seat, accompanied by a soft grunt. Glancing at the mirror, I realized that I couldn't see Nagi or Far, just the top portion of the back seat and the shards of glass in the frame. I spared a heartbeat and looked at the gap between Brad's seat and my own; all I could see was the back of Farfarello's jacket.

"Schuldig, drive!" Brad ordered, his own gun out and firing through the non-existent back window.

Teeth grinding in frustration and worry, I turned my attention fully to the task at hand. I took a deep breath, sent out a telepathic command to the drivers ahead of us – _:Do not change lanes, do not change speed:_ – and swerved my way through the traffic. My only hope was that our pursuit wouldn't be as able to dodge.

And through it all, the maddening desire for fucking _pancakes_.

Brad's sidearm thundered again and again; apparently they were dodging well enough.

My concentration slid fully into "the zone" and I knew the drivers ahead would comply with my command. Driving became easy as my reflexes kicked into high gear and I felt myself grinning. If the situation weren't so dangerous, I'd say I was having fun.

Brad hunched down in his seat to reload his gun. I took the moment to ask, "When we're done here, can we get some pancakes?"

Calm as only Brad Crawford in a firefight could be, he slipped the ammunition home and said, "What do you mean, pancakes?"

"I mean I want some fucking pancakes, Brad!" My eyes were beginning to sting from lack of blinking.

Brad spared me a mild glare. "You don't want pancakes, Schuldig. You never want pancakes. The guy chasing us wants the damn pancakes." He turned in his seat and fired.

From behind us came the unmistakable whine of tires sliding sideways across pavement, followed by a satisfying crash.

Brad sat right-way in his seat again and asked, "Still want pancakes?"

I had to think about it. "Yes," I lied, not wanting to seem like a complete fool.

Brad didn't buy it. "Your shields are shit. You got complacent again."

"Fuck you very much," I snarled, my body beginning to shake with leftover adrenalin.

Brad put his hand over mine on the steering wheel. "Throttle down, and get us out of sight."

I eased back up in my seat and squinted through the ruined windshield. We'd only been in this car for a day and a half and already it was trashed.

Beside me, Brad had turned to survey the back seat, and I forced down my questions. I had to drive, get the team somewhere to regroup. I couldn't spare a thought for the two youngest just yet.

The best place I could find was beneath a bridge, unseen by those above and yet close enough to the road that getting a replacement vehicle shouldn't be too hard. I cut the engine and turned to see how my teammates fared.

Farfarello was crouched over the backseat floorboards, one hand and knee on the seat, the other braced against the floor. His back was covered with glass; here and there blood seeped dull crimson through his jacket.

Brad got out of the car and opened the back door. "You can get up now, Farfarello. It's over for today."

Far's voice came low and gravelly, without intonation. "They wanted the boy." Slowly he backed out of the car, reclaiming his hunting knife as he did so.

From beneath him, crammed into the space between front and back seat, Nagi let out a low groan. He got up on all fours, wincing as he put weight on his right hand. I vaulted from the car and helped him out on my side. His face was ashen, and he was trembling.

:Chibi, what happened: I asked, fear and worry getting the better of me.

Aloud, Nagi replied, "The window. Glass. It almost hit me. I couldn't move. Then Farfarello cut the seat belt and pushed me down."

"They wanted to hurt the boy," Far growled. "I won't allow that."

"Which side were they, Brad?" I heard myself asking even as my mind raced to assess Nagi's condition. The kid seemed rattled as all hell, and he was cradling his right arm, but he didn't even have a scratch on him.

Brad checked Nagi's arm, found it was dislocated at the shoulder. No wonder the kid looked so pasty; it had to hurt like hell. I held Nagi still while Brad forced it back into the joint. Nagi gasped, but didn't faint.

"That," Brad stated, replying to my earlier question, "was probably Esset. Remember, the factions use the same tools, but the directness implies the identity."

I looked at Nagi, sitting on the ground, propped against a tread-burned tire; then at Far, standing at the edge of the bridge's shadow like a sentinel. :Brad, can you tell me something:

:Depends on what you want, Schuldig.:

:Esset should want us to pay for wounding it, right? If it doesn't, it will. But what about Rosenkreuz? What do they want, really:

:Not 'they'. 'He'.: Brad regarded me with a steady gaze. :He's after me, Schuldig. And he will stop at nothing.:

I debated forcing the issue, demanding to know more, but I knew I'd get nowhere. Instead I turned and strode over to where Far stood, his back seeping blood through his coat. He'd calmed down enough that we should be able to tend his wounds safely.

Slowly I stripped off his jacket, feeling like I was undressing a mannequin for all the help he gave me. Then I tried to get his shirt off, but Far stopped me. He peeled it off, little bits of glass falling free as he did so. "My back feels wet," he murmured, "and sticky."

I felt my face go pale. Far's left shoulder bore a jagged hole decorated with upholstery and glass. Blood seeped from it in a slow trickle. I checked from the front: no exit wound. Shit. "Nagi, we need you."

I guided Far to lie on his belly away from the broken glass. Nagi knelt beside him, resting his right hand on Far's back while he checked the wound left-handed. "Wipe and cut," Nagi said, not looking up. "Probably stitch."

Brad handed him the alcohol and gauze.

Nagi cleaned the wound of debris, then concentrated a moment. He frowned and shook his head. "I can't do it like this. I'm sorry, Far."

"No need," Farfarello murmured. "Use the switchblade, it's smallest." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small knife, offered it to Nagi.

"Arigato," Nagi whispered. He poured alcohol over the blade, then set about removing the bullet.

I couldn't watch. He'd done the same for me once, but he'd been able to use his powers to grab the slug rather than dig it out with a pocket knife.

Brad didn't turn away. He watched Nagi's field surgery, collecting the bullet once it was free and providing Nagi with a sharp needle and a roll of dental floss to finish the work.

Far seemed to be dozing.

By the time he was done, Nagi looked rather ill. His shoulder must be hurting like hell, I thought. He stumbled toward Brad.

"Good work, Nagi." Brad gave him a small bottle of sports drink and a couple of aspirins. "Farfarello, stay put for a while. I don't want those stitches coming out. Schuldig, get us another car. We need to get moving."

I sighed against the welling headache and nodded. Hopefully Brad would take over driving for a while; I was all funned out.

Within half an hour we were back on the road, Nagi sleeping in the passenger seat and Far keeping watch beside me in the back. Brad drove fast and with certainty, apparently with a destination in mind. Or a desired time of arrival – with precogs, location could be either geographic or sequential.

My telepathy was getting a hell of a workout: we stopped for groceries and made money on the transaction. I didn't like resorting to thievery, but I rationalized that short-changing was not so heinous an act as robbery. Besides, we were nearly out of money.

Brad had told me to get enough food for about four days, so I did. He had to help me carry it all back to the car, but as he did so he murmured, "Thank you, Schuldig. Get some sleep. I'll be driving for while."

I didn't even think to ask where we were going.

**A/N:**

_it ain't so groovy when you're screaming in the night "let me out of this cheap 'B' movie"_

Queen, "Headlong" from _Innuendo_. Welcome to my "Pulp Fiction" chapter, where two men engaged in the serious business of getting shot at can calmly discuss the possibilities of breakfast. Schwarz lives in surreal circumstances at the best of times, and these are not the best of times for them. Non-sequiturs become the norm, and everyone slips a little further into "The Twilight Zone".

Brad Crawford wanted to get Esset's attention, and he succeeded big time. He's taking a mighty gamble, that the two factions with reason to hunt and apprehend Schwarz will interfere with each other and not band together for the common goal. Obviously he knows more about what's going on than he's telling his team, but in the command structure of an Esset field team that's only to be expected.

And Schuldig, Schuldig, Schuldig…get yourself some damn pancakes, already! Clearly Rosenkreuz doesn't bother training its telepaths to handle the daily ebb and flow of humanity very well. Of course, if they had just left him alone as a child and allowed him to build his own shields, he would probably have been fine.

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Skippys Cat_** – I know how RL can get – I hope everything's okay.

I love how you review as you go, it always makes for an interesting read, and I love seeing how you put the puzzle together. Yes, I'm a real stinker for putting out so many clues, but remember, I'm the Evil!Author, it's what I do. It's my own personal…idiom.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – LOL! Nagi and Far can ignore much. I'm glad you liked.

As for four guys living in a van…during the State Fair of Oklahoma, they used to do this promo where (I forget how many exactly) too many people had to live in a Geo Metro for as long as they could bear it. Last one got the car. I hope they cleaned it before handing over the keys…

And yes, the pace will be increasing now. Schu is a less self-absorbed narrator than he used to be, so the focus will be a bit larger, and time flies when you're watching out for other people.

I understand about the empathy. And so would Karl. Crazy, blind, desperate – yes, it's a dangerous world indeed.

**_Lestat_** – Thank you, thank you! Yeah, at least he didn't have to watch…that time. They won't have the luxury of a full-size van forever, you know.

**_Poco-poco_** – Wow, that's high praise indeed! Brad is often presented as difficult to like, if not downright bastardly. I'm glad I can shine a flashlight on his more human side here.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Whether things start to come together or not, they will certainly be careening out of control for a while…

**_Bladderwrack_** – I don't keep the bits in my head, I stick this plug into the jack behind my right ear and upload it directly to the computer. heh heh heh – Borg!GuiltyRed

**_Shadowgirl_** – I'm sure Brad appreciated the migraine pills. Especially thinking about Schu hosting "Whose Line –Home Edition".

As for being lost, just wait till Nagi has to discover nature's toilet paper…

looks over at Yohji, thinking about swords… Um, right… Depends on the culture. Sometimes it would be a ring or just the hand. The sword/cross symbolism I believe started with the Crusades, and Far's sarcasm aside, these men aren't Crusaders.

":has now been debating that question for a good 3 hours, especially after she had a DREAM about such:"

Do I even want to ask?

**_May_** – Thank you. smile Yes, things are veering into new territory here.

**_Akayen_** – I'm so glad you like!

**_Eboni_** – LOL! Speaking of methane, how can you tell when a moth farts? (I'll tell you later.)

Who is this mysterious "he", indeed. muahahaha! Evil!Author laughing like Yzma the Cat…

About the moth? It flies in a straight line.

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Made you squee like a fangirl, eh? Then I must have got it right. grin


	68. 68

**68**

_the whole world's gone to Hell, but how are you?_

Winter in Europe.

If we weren't in exile, it would be romantic.

We stayed on the main continent through the frozen months, mostly driving in stolen cars and living out of them like gypsies. Sometimes Brad Saw a safe rail trip or a night in a hotel with a real bed and fresh linens, but those were exceedingly rare. No, we bought or stole warm coats and blankets, lit campfires when Brad decreed it prudent, and mostly huddled together for warmth like the refugees we were.

In short, it was one of the most miserable seasons of my life.

By the time February started to dream of spring, I'd developed a nasty cough and my nose wouldn't stop running. Sure the hell made me look forward to the coming pollen – at this rate, I was going to be a physical wreck before summer.

At least I wasn't jonesing for a smoke. Not too badly, anyway.

Though, there were days.

Like this one.

My head hurt, I could barely breathe, and the air was bitter cold. We'd parked in the wilderness yet again, as we'd been doing ever since the three Esset sedans had shown up in the parking garage in Belgium and we'd had to flee on foot.

Nagi lay curled up against my chest, warm and as comfortable as he could be in the little coupe. Far had extra blankets in the back seat, while Brad sat hunched in double coats behind the steering wheel. It was my turn to keep watch, and I was finding it damn difficult to stay awake. I suspected I had a fever, but I'd been bitching so much lately I didn't want Brad to think I couldn't do my job.

I found my thoughts turning back on the last year as though it were a particularly cheap novel I'd been reading, the kind that once you start it you just can't put down, no matter how ugly it gets. A year ago we'd been playing cat-and-mouse with Weiß over little sleeping Aya, her dreams an intriguing mystery to us all. I'd met Kudou in a cheap bar, a small coincidence with huge aftershocks. And Brad had been planning the end of the world.

I laughed softly. End of the world my ass. He'd been planning the downfall of the Elders of Esset and the glorious death of Schwarz. He'd never had to plan on our survival.

And now we were trapped in a small Italian car on a snow-capped hill with perpetually dwindling supplies and one sick telepath.

Strong, gentle fingers brushed at my cheek, and I realized I'd started crying. The fever ate away at my composure, the cold burned through my bones, and my mind fucking hurt. I'd been pushing too hard for too long, and my body begged me to just stop for a while. Just stop, and go out into the snow to sleep.

Nagi shifted in my arms. Brad touched his shoulder and the kid woke with a yawn. "Nagi, I need you to set up a campfire. There's dry wood about fifteen meters southwest. It's deadfall, you can't miss it."

Nagi let himself out of the car, not looking at me. He wasn't dealing well with me being sick: it worried him more than he wanted me to know.

Brad slid over to sit closer to me, his hand upon my forehead. "Schu, you're burning up. You should have told me it wasn't getting better."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my mouth feeling like it was lined with cotton. "I didn't want Nagi to worry."

"Too late, I'm afraid," Brad murmured. He scrounged up some aspirin and a bottle of juice – not the regular kind of juice, but the watery stuff people feed to infants. The last couple of days, it was the only thing I could handle.

"I think I need a doctor, Brad," I whispered, afraid to admit weakness. "Or find me some penicillin or something. This has to stop. My head's too heavy, I can't work like this."

Brad frowned a moment, then excused himself from the car. He went around the back and opened the trunk.

When he returned to the driver's seat, I blinked at him. I had no idea how long he'd been gone, and no real idea of where we were in the first place.

Brad scowled at me, then opened the little bottle in his hands. I could smell the heavy moldy smell of penicillin. "Here, Schu. Try one of these." He put the capsule between my teeth for me and I washed it down with the baby-drink.

He looked at the bottle again and sighed. "It's a little old, but it worked for you a few months ago. Let's see how you're feeling after a couple of doses. If we have to, I can get you to a…" His voice faded off, his eyes taking on the unfocused look that spoke of visions. Slow tears welled at the corners, probably because he wasn't blinking.

My body decided to use the time to doze.

A hand cupped my face, and I woke to see Brad staring at me. He whispered, "You're going to be fine, Schu. Take the penicillin, we'll get some more in a couple of days. This will pass, but you're going to have to be more careful in the cold from now on. Understood?"

I frowned a little, his words conflicting with my logic. I'd always thought that _being_ cold and _catching_ cold had nothing to do with one another.

"Schu, it's not a cold," Brad said, and I realized I'd been thinking out loud. "It's bronchitis, and if you're not careful it could turn really nasty. The cold makes you seize up like an asthmatic because your bronchi are irritated, probably from too many years of chain smoking."

"I never chain smoked!" I wheezed, then doubled over coughing. Dimly I remembered Yohji doing the same thing, and wondered if that had been his problem. He'd said something about inhaling nasty sea water…

Brad only watched me with a mild and unreadable expression. If he'd actually had tears in his eyes, he showed no indication of it now.

"I need you healthy, Schuldig," Brad told me, dropping his voice as Farfarello woke and let himself out of the car. "Once you're feeling better, I'm going to have to split the team again. Not for long this time, but you'll have to watch over Nagi for me. He won't like it, but it can't be helped. They'll be looking for me with a small boy, they won't be expecting us to travel separately."

"Can we maybe stay in a real room for a while first?" I asked, swiping Far's blankets and wrapping them around myself like a cocoon.

"I'll see what I can do."

Brad left me alone in the car again, presumably to check on Nagi and the campfire. I huddled under the pile of blankets, the aspirin taking only the slightest edge off the chill. I wanted soup, even that nasty fish soup would work, as long as it was steaming hot.

I'd never been this sick before. Though I couldn't clearly remember my childhood, I was pretty sure something like this would stand out, and there was nothing. While at Rosenkreuz, I'd been the picture of health. Bruised and beaten, but otherwise rosy perfect. No colds, not even a case of athlete's foot.

And now this crap.

I shivered. At least winter was nearly over.

Then I shivered again – at least we'd made it through Christmas without an incident. I hadn't even noticed it come and go. Apparently, neither had Farfarello. That, or his team loyalty had overridden his madness this year.

Of course, that meant that Easter was right around the corner. Fortunately it didn't have a set date, and I could hope Far wouldn't find out when it fell this year.

2001, was it? No, 2002. Late February, 2002.

Shit, I couldn't think straight anymore.

As I started to pass out, bits of conversation snuck into my head. I could barely tell who was who; their thoughts echoed their words, or masked them, or the other way around. I didn't have the soundtrack, just the thinktrack, so I couldn't be sure just what was going on. At least the mental voices kept me company while I dozed.

:He's going to be fine. He just needs to rest and take some medicine for a while.:

:What if one of us gets really sick? What do we do then:

:We find a way.:

:I have some pills in my bag, from when I had those stitches.: Ah, that must be Far. Far, too far, getting all cut up and sewn up like a rag doll. Good thinking, there, Far mein Freund.

Farfarello looked toward the car. :I think he's delirious, Crawford.:

:I've Seen him turning around overnight. We'll head toward town just in case I'm wrong, but I think the penicillin will do the trick.:

:This time. What about next time:

:We'll make sure we keep antibiotics on hand. Enough for each of us.:

:I can't always get into a pharmacy computer.: Nagi's scared. He's worried about me. He's such a good kid, really, when you get past all the training. :How will we get what we need:

:I have ways.: Oh, Brad. You always have ways, you mysterious son of a bitch. And you never tell us any of them. You have so many secrets. What I wouldn't give to dive into your head for a look around. Of course, you'd probably shoot me…

The driver's side door opened, and Brad settled into the seat. "How are you doing?" He reached over and put his hand across my forehead. It was mercifully cool, drawing me back into reality.

"I think I slept," I told him, not really sure but feeling rested.

He gave me some more of that thin juice, then helped me out of the car and a little distance away to relieve myself. He had to brace me so I didn't topple over. I realized I was starting to get dehydrated; that couldn't be good.

When Brad got me back to the car, he opened the door for me and tilted my seat back as far as it would go. He set two bottles of juice in the driver's seat. "Try to get some sleep. Whenever you wake up, I want you drinking this stuff. Understood?"

I nodded, my head an absurd weight upon my neck.

Brad kissed my forehead, then my cheek. His eyes were dark as he said, "You'll feel better tomorrow. Trust me, all right?"

"I trust you, Brad," I whispered. "I love you."

Brad smiled slightly and tugged a lock of my hair. "No you don't."

I smiled back. "Yes, I do."

"Go to sleep."

"Goodnight, Brad."

"Goodnight, Schu."

**A/N:**

68 

_the whole world's gone to Hell, but how are you?_

Oh, dear. Schu is having a "South Park" moment. Not a good sign, for a delirious telepath. At least he's got a sense of humor about everything. So far. "I'm Super", Big Gay Al's fabulous hit from _"South Park – Bigger, Longer & Uncut"_ pretty well sums that up. Let's give Schu a bit of rest and see how he's feeling next chapter, shall we?

**Special Note:**

I'm putting this note with all my fics; the one for "Standing Outside the Fire" is a little different, so if you're reading that story, please read that note as well. If you've seen this note with "Rain", you can skip it here.

Hey, all, just wanted to give you the heads-up about the BIG MOVE to my livejournal (guiltyredfics). I'm reposting ALL of the "Cross of Changes" arc over there, including this story. When I'm all caught up, I will be posting subsequent chapters ONLY at my livejournal and my website! I will give you plenty of notice before pulling the plug here, as I want all of you to continue reading in the new venue.

Again, this move is due to restrictive, reactive, and arbitrary policies here, which must at some point come into conflict with my storytelling. The first story to disappear from FanFic will be "Standing Outside the Fire", due to content and rating issues. The others will follow to maintain continuity. You don't have to have a livejournal yourself to read (or review), so please, visit my livejournal, get comfortable with the setup there, and settle in for some (hopefully) powerful reading. Oh, and please, sign any reviews there with your FanFic pen-name so I know who you are!

Thank you!

GR

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Poco-poco_** – Thank you! beams

**_Redqueen_** – LOL! Cravings are contagious, you know.

I'm effectively tossing the drama CDs out the proverbial window. I love your take on the whole Sally business, it sums up my feelings on it perfectly. No, I'm winging it until Gluhen, and then after to the "real" ending. My logic just can't manage a long enough holiday to deal with the drama CDs…

Oh, you're so very welcome! I love them too! Have you found the video tracks on their albums? They've hidden some neat stuff in there. Personally I have to thank Wingboys-and-Two-Fangirls for CXS – their anime music videos "Coming Home" and "Winterborn" totally got me hooked. If you haven't experienced those, you need to!

**_Bnomiko_** – Wow, thanks! I will!

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Oh, the obsession thing will start to reveal itself over the next few story-months, and come to a…painful conclusion a little later.

Yes, he's missing Yohji. So much so, in fact, that his subconscious is going to become his pilot for a while – watch out for the next time Schuldig is driving.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Actually, it could have been the tourists in the rental car thinking about pancakes… You've seen for yourself just how contagious those cravings are, and I didn't even use telepathy to do it to ya! heh heh heh

A ninja, eh? Cool.

**_miecamiu_** – Thank you! Believe me, I'm enjoying the writing of it as much as you enjoy the reading. grin

**_Skippys Cat_** – Chaos and stress – sounds like Brad's life.

I do like seeing those first reactions!

Cool thing about that line, if you say it fast enough, people don't even realize you're being rude.

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – What's the world coming to, indeed. And keep in mind, as far as chapter length goes, this is totally from Schuldig's point of view: if his attention wanders, chapter ends. He's been a very self-centered young man for most of his life; this is slowly eroding away. As his focus turns outward, chapter length will vary and the time between chapters will mostly increase.

**_Eboni_** – Heee! I loved writing that whole pancake thing. All I could think about was "Pulp Fiction" where they're discussing what one would call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in France, since they use the metric system…

"Sometimes it just seems Brad doesn't really know what he's doing. Like the future is fickle, so he's just picked out one probable one and he's chancing toward that conclusion."

It's more like a downhill slalom ski race, with people shooting at the skiers. He's picking the course most likely to get them all to the bottom of the hill in one piece, but the future IS fickle…

Could be Far is just presuming they're after Nagi… It's not like any Esset agents politely tapped on Schwarz's car window and said "Excuse me, but we're going to try to capture or kill the boy telekinetic now, if you don't mind." Each member of Schwarz probably has his own idea about who "THEY" are after, and why (except for Brad, it's not "THEY" so much…).

recovering from Evil!Author mode…I think I'll go write now…


	69. 69

**69**

_Your eyes they often lie and leave me feeling misunderstood_

"Are you sure this is necessary, Brad?" I asked, my voice still not quite back to its former strength. "I've only just gotten over bronchitis, for God's sake."

"Keep it down!" Brad hissed, tossing a look back over his shoulder. "Yes, it's necessary. It's only for about six weeks, Schuldig." He paused in his repacking to move closer to me and touch my shoulder. "Don't worry, I've Seen us meeting up again in late April. They just have to be kept apart for a while."

:Oh, shit.: I whispered into his mind, finally catching on. :Easter. Does he know when it is:

:I don't think so. But if they're together, it will be bad.:

I nodded. "All right, I'll quit the bitching. Where are we supposed to go?"

"Anywhere but Germany," Brad replied. Then he looked into my eyes, a soft sadness within that glance. "Even there. Just be careful, Schuldig. It's not just your life you're playing with now."

I swallowed, hope and shame burning within my chest. "Maybe he'd eat better there," I offered, trying for some kind of rationalization.

"Whatever," Brad muttered, pulling away from me. "There are Japanese restaurants all over the world, I'm sure you can manage something clever."

"Brad, you're really confusing me," I confessed. "You act like there's no big deal if I see him, then you get all cold when it looks likely. I don't understand you."

Brad straightened his glasses, then regarded me with a cool look. "Schuldig, what I See colors everything. You know I can only say so much of it without risking backlash. Now, think for once." With that he turned away and resumed packing.

I heaved a sigh, which turned into a shallow cough. Damn, over twenty years of stellar health and now this shit. Maybe I could manage to sneak in to see a doctor somewhere, make sure this wasn't turning into asthma or something stupid like that.

Brad stood bolt upright like a startled animal. "Schuldig," he rasped, "whatever you just decided, don't do it. Don't ask, just promise me."

A chill tickled down my back. I hated when he did that shit. "All right, I promise. Can you tell me­–"

"I said don't ask!" he barked, louder than he'd planned.

Behind us, Farfarello looked up from his book, and Nagi stared at us with suspicious eyes.

"Jeez, Brad, chill," I hissed. "Why don't you just tell me where to go, and how long to stay there, then? I'm tired of trying to guess what you want me to do."

Brad took a deep breath, held it for a few moments before releasing it with a low whistle. "I can't. Not this time." He turned to look at me, his eyes dark and haunted. "I can't know where you are. If I know…" Brad glanced back toward Farfarello. "Please tell me you understand my meaning, Schuldig. If you can't manage that, I don't know how we'll survive the next seven months."

Seven months? Hell, it's nearly been a year already… I stood there with my mouth hanging open for several seconds before pulling myself together and answering him. :No, I follow. Are you sure you'll be safe alone with Far:

:It's the only way. I won't send Nagi alone, and one of us has to watch Farfarello. He's less likely to attack me than you, Schuldig. We already know that.: He strode around to the front of the car and leaned against the faded blue hood. Bracing his hands behind him, he stretched backwards, baring his face to the sky. :Just keep Nagi safe until Easter is past: he told me, his mental tone weary and very nearly frightened. :One crisis at a time, and this one looks ugly.:

I sat on the hood next to him and leaned against his shoulder. Ever since that fever delirium had stripped my shields to nothing, the thought of being away from Brad made me very uncomfortable. I hated feeling so damn vulnerable, but I had to admit that I needed his quiet, perhaps more than ever now. While we traveled through Europe, my ability to keep people out of my head seemed to wax and wane like the moon. Sometimes even Brad's quiet was not enough. The thought of losing all pretense at shielding scared the piss out of me. If Brad's gift might drive him mad, mine was almost certain to be my undoing.

"Hey," Brad said, gently tugging a lock of my hair. "Stop brooding. You won't be alone that long. I wouldn't leave you out there like that." He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, the gesture so simple it nearly brought tears to my eyes. Brad took hold of my hand and said, "We need to get going. It'll be okay, Schu. You'll make the right choices on this one. Just remember, it's not about you, or me, this time."

I nodded. "Right. I'll take care of him."

"I know you will."

Less than an hour later, Nagi and I were helping ourselves to a nondescript car at a crowded parking lot. More to see if he could than out of necessity, Nagi unlocked the doors with his gift. He frowned, the first sign of an oncoming headache, but he got the car open and even started it for me before dropping into the passenger seat with a soft grunt.

"Thanks, kiddo," I murmured, grateful I didn't have to hotwire the damn thing. I wanted to keep my concentration on our surroundings, not on the car. So far this had gone easily, but I never trusted easy. "Where to?"

"Anywhere but here," he replied, his voice soft with pain.

Groping around with one hand, I grabbed my pack and hauled it to the front seat. "There's medicine in this. Find some and take it."

Nagi opened a bottle of water from his own pack, then wrestled the headache pills from mine. "These won't make me sick, will they?" he asked, though I could tell he was desperate enough to take them anyway.

"No, chibi, these are the light ones." I'd noticed that this car had a CD player, so I asked Nagi if music would aggravate his headache. I didn't want to make it worse, but without Brad there, I wanted something to help me keep my head to myself.

The kid frowned and said, "It depends. If it's your usual music, it probably would. If you're singing along, it definitely would."

"Ha ha. Cute. Look around and see what's here, then. Maybe the guy listened to classical," I grumbled.

"I have some Mozart," Nagi offered, holding out a disc.

I sighed. "Fine, put it in." At least it was sound, and rhythm, even if it didn't have words.

The more I listened, the more I started to actually like it.

After a few minutes of my tapping along on the steering wheel, Nagi took the CD back out and stuffed one of mine into the player. "I can't stand your drumming, Schuldig. If this will keep your hands on the wheel, then I'll deal with the noise."

I snorted a laugh. Even in our current circumstances, the kid was totally deadpan. He could be a miniature Ben Stein for all the inflection he used.

Living out of a car was not my idea of a good time, but I knew that we had to put some distance between ourselves and the other half of our team. I wasn't sure if Nagi knew why we were doing this, and I didn't really want to ask him. He had a lot of trouble with abandonment, and I could tell he felt as though Brad had ditched us.

All I could do was make the best of it, so I made sure we had supplies for several days and headed off on a random tangent.

We ended up in Amsterdam.

Spring tulips and other flowers were already making a riot of color along the roadways. I caught Nagi looking at them in a little bit of wonder: he'd never seen these kind of flowers outside of a cut arrangement before. I couldn't help but smile. He looked like a regular teenager, traveling with perhaps an older brother or something and seeing more cool things than he'd expected.

I found us safe places to sleep, always making certain that there were no psi-talents nearby and no one who might be inclined to question us or cause trouble. Sometimes we slept in warehouses, great empty behemoths by night, forsaken by all but the rats. Said rodents steered clear of us, never getting close enough to be a hazard. I suspected it had something to do with Nagi's telekinesis. Every psi has a built-in survival circuit, and it was very likely that any rat trying to make a snack out of the kid would find itself squashed into rat-spam.

I managed to do a little sight-seeing for my own curiosity, even bought a postcard though I knew better than to mail it. Wouldn't do to have such a tangible link between me and Yohji, tempting as it might have been. No, I would settle for seeing what there was to see and telling Yohji about it over coffee someday.

Nagi found a few local foods he could tolerate without too much trouble, and even got some decent rest. I realized he hadn't been sleeping well ever since I'd gotten bronchitis. Farfarello had been lucid for far too long at one stretch; Nagi knew the snap was coming, and with me out of commission it could have been ugly. Far always obsessed over Nagi through the Easter holiday; I had never quite figured out why. Whether he thought Nagi holy or a mote in God's eye didn't really matter: worship and destruction go hand in hand with Farfarello. He is the archetype of man-who-slays-his-god; either way would bring disaster.

After several fairly pleasant days of being unnoticed tourists, I started to feel the pull of the road again. We couldn't stay put for too long. I found us a car, picked a direction, and left a spring-bright Amsterdam behind me.

This time, Nagi was more willing to talk as we drove. I could tell he was missing the others, but he didn't seem to be blaming them anymore. He just asked me when we'd meet up again, and let it drop. Then he asked, "Are we going back to Japan?"

"Do you want to?" I asked back, glancing at him. "It's about as risky as anyplace else, except Germany right now." My heart pounded; I was hoping he would say 'yes'. It had been months since I'd seen Yohji. More than half a year, I realized. He'd probably forgotten about me by now.

Nagi regarded me with too-shrewd eyes. "You want to see him. I can tell."

"And? Your point?"

"What about Brad, Schuldig? I've seen you two together. The way he touches your hair."

I sighed. How could I explain this to him? Then I realized, as far as I knew Brad had never had "the talk" with Nagi. How the _hell_ could I even _start_ to explain?

His voice almost shy, Nagi asked, "Does he touch your hair too? The way Brad does?"

A smile snuck onto my face and stayed there as memories played through my head. "No, not the way Brad does," I replied, still trying to figure out just what I should tell him.

"Is it just for the sex, then?"

"Nagi!"

"What?" he retorted, his expression bland.

I cleared my throat. "No, it's not just about sex. What do you know about that, anyway?"

Nagi graced me with one of his patronizing sighs. "Schuldig, I was at Rosenkreuz too, remember? I know about sex."

My face went hot. Of course he knew about sex. What kind of an idiot was I, thinking that maybe he was innocent? "I'm sorry, kiddo."

"For what?"

_For what?_ My mind churned up history, showing me exactly what I was sorry for. Viktor. Sonndheim. Takatori. My jaw clenched and I swallowed against a burning sensation in my throat. "I'm sorry for forgetting sometimes that you've been through hell too."

A small hand touched mine, offered its own sense of grounding. "I'm okay, Schu. They didn't win."

_No, but that sort of thing changes you, kid._ "I know."

"Schuldig?"

"What is it, kiddo?"

Nagi looked down, as if he couldn't look at my face as he said, "I don't mind if you sing along with the music."

Non sequiturs had become my way of life. "Thanks, chibi. I'll try not to make your eardrums bleed." I put in a well-worn disc and let it pull me in, shield me from my past, from Nagi's past. I had to concentrate on driving, I couldn't afford to get dragged back into my memories. One amazing thing about each of my teammates, they could all tell when I was getting into trouble, whether it was a lack of shielding or my own peculiar self-absorptive brooding. Nagi knew it was time to change the subject, before I drove off the road.

When we stopped for the night, I got Nagi bedded down in the back seat of the car and tilted my seat back across his legs. I wanted a cigarette. At least I knew that craving was my own; I was familiar enough with it over all these years to know if it was an impostor. The food cravings had been a bit bizarre, but I would rather have those than the mood swings. Hell, a telepath with patchy shields was worse than any joke about PMS or pregnancy! Then again, I had been feeling a little run-down lately. I laughed at myself, letting the absurdity play itself out in my mind. Wouldn't that just be hilarious? I'd have to go on a daytime talk show to find out who the culprit was.

"Schuldig, men can't get pregnant, and you're projecting very loudly." Nagi sat up and looked at me with fatigue-rimmed eyes. "If you can't shut up, can you just go to sleep?"

"Sorry, kiddo. Guess my mind is a little over-worked lately."

"It's probably just out of shape."

"Cute. Real cute. You serious about letting me sleep first?"

Nagi sighed. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't have offered. Besides, you're the driver. You need your rest."

"I could teach you how to drive," I suggested. "That way we could share the load, and you could surprise Brad."

"Shock him senseless is more like it, if you taught me." Nagi smiled, nearly laughing. "I bet he wouldn't See it coming."

I let the kid keep watch while I tried to sleep. It wasn't easy that night, probably because of where our conversation had gone earlier. When I did drift off, it was to uneasy dreams of a forest where the trees had claws: a demented Disney dreamscape where larger-than-life villains lay in wait for their chosen prey.

Deep within the forest lay a path, and the path led to massive iron gates. Beyond the gates…

Something grabbed me, and I flailed against it.

"Schuldig, wake up!"

Nagi's voice cut through the panic. His small hands gripped my arm, his eyes searched my face for recognition. "Schuldig, please wake up!"

I couldn't speak, I could only wave my hand at him and nod. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I'd been dreaming… "I'm okay, chibi," I rasped. Then I realized I didn't know if he'd woken me because of my nightmare, or something else. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. You were yelling in your sleep," Nagi said, barely audible. "I thought you were having a seizure, like Farfarello." His voice broke on the name.

"No, kiddo, it was just a bad dream," I told him, moving to see him better.

His eyes were bright and frightened. He dragged in a deep breath. "You're okay, though, right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I reached out to his mind, as gently as I could. What I found there made my heart ache.

Nagi had never had a real childhood. The fears and betrayals of those years weighed heavy on him, probably always would. The team was as close to family as he would ever get. And too many times lately he'd seen a teammate suffer or collapse outright. He was terrified of being left alone, of losing the only home he had. Of losing Schwarz.

I put my seat up and clambered into the back to sit next to him. "Kiddo, we're going to get through this," I said, reaching out to hold him the way I used to, when he barely knew my language and only came up to my waist. "Trust Crawford. He might not be able to tell us why, but I believe he does know what he's doing. It's frustrating, yeah, and I question a lot of it, but that's because I hate not knowing, not because I don't trust him. I trust him with my life."

"Do you trust him with mine?" Nagi whispered, not looking at me.

I tilted his chin up and looked into his eyes, though he tried to pull away. "Yes, Nagi. I do."

He leaned forward and clung to me like a little kid, holding fast to the only safety he knew. "I'm scared. He's scaring me, Schuldig. Worse than Far."

"I know, kiddo. I'm scared too." Too many times Brad had dropped little hints that had me chilled to the core, without any clear knowledge of their nature. I totally understood why Nagi would be frightened. "We're up against some nasty odds, and I know that Brad is doing everything in his power to stack them in our favor. We just have to hold on, and ride it out."

"I hate this."

Without another word, I eased us both down onto the back seat, Nagi lying almost on top of me. I scanned the area one more time, found nothing. We needed sleep, and we were running out of night. It was a little warm like this, but I'd held that kid when he was too small to complain about it, and damned if I was going to let him pull away now. I wrapped my arms around Nagi and held him close, breathing in the scent of him, remembering the good moments when he was just a child, and I was just his keeper. The time before we were a complete team.

The time before Esset devoured Nagi's remaining innocence and left me with this changeling in his place.

Amazingly, Nagi dozed off within minutes, his body relaxed and warm in the way that only exhausted children manage to pull off. I let the weight and the heat of him bear me down until sleep pulled me under, this time without dreams.

A/N 

_Your eyes they often lie and leave me feeling misunderstood_

And a return to CXS _Mystery_. "Heart on My Sleeve" could be about Brad, or Nagi. Those are the two people best able to hold Schuldig hostage by his heart. He would do anything for them, or very nearly anything: he's hoping they won't ask him to do _that_.

Ever listen to Mozart's _Don Giovanni_? Can't you just imagine Schuldig banging away on the steering wheel, singing at the top of his lungs in a language he doesn't know? So can I. No wonder Nagi pulled the plug on that one.

Ben Stein, for those who may not know, is the actor who played the teacher in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", the one doing roll call: "Bueller… Bueller … Bueller …" He also does those Visine commercials ("dry, itchy eyes") and at one time had his own game show ("Win Ben Stein's Money"). His whole shtick is a flat, monotone, deadpan presentation. Which is something Nagi excels at naturally.

As for the time jumps in the last two chapters… you know how "real life" sometimes sneaks up and bites you in the ass, and you catch yourself wondering where the hell the first half of the year vanished to? Schuldig is beginning to experience this…

**Special Note:**

Another note about my move to livejournal. This is in response to a question from **_Arileo_**, and probably others who just haven't asked it yet. Yes, I'm pulling out from MediaMiner and AdultFanFiction too, but not for the same reason as here.

I'm leaving this site due to their ratings and censorship policies: my stories just about beg to get banned, and that doesn't set well with the whole "unleash your imagination and free your soul" tagline. Also, it offends me greatly that other writers can wind up banned for minor infractions while my juggernaut of an NC17 epic lumbers on unscathed. It's not fair, it's not even-handed, and it's just not right. I don't want to take advantage of a situation like this while others are targeted.

The reason I'm pulling out from the other sites is simply that I was losing track of what was posted where, and I wasn't getting my review responses out to my own satisfaction. I'd write to people here, but I've ended up neglecting the folks at the other sites. Apparently one fic-journal and one website are enough for my frazzled little mind! (It's the "RL" job that's really eating my brain lately – perpetually short handed in a publication business is not a happy thing, especially when you're the dork who knows every part of the job and has to fill in for anyone who's off.)

I hope you all forgive me for the change of venue, but my sanity has to come first. I'm just grateful my muses haven't abandoned me through all the chaos, though I sometimes wish they'd let me take a day or two off! sweatdrop

GR

**_Poco-poco_** – You'll be glad to know, nothing blew up. grin

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Gotta love those squee moments!

**_Shadowgirl_** – ch 68 – I managed to work myself into a case of double pneumonia once. Not pretty. Fever was fun, tho – air conditioner sang to me (hmm, maybe THAT'S where Far gets his fascination with those things…)

ch 67 – Glad you saved it, I was worried about ya with all those thunderstorms!

**_Arileo_** – I hope you understand my need to simplify. I've got enough chaos just writing these monster stories!

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – You're so right about never taking things lightly with anyone from Rosenkreuz. I may have to do a blog or side story someday about "Brad's Diary", and show the either/or visions he's been getting all through this.

I'm aiming for sad, happy, bitter-sweet, actually… We're not too close yet: have to get through Warsaw and Glühen first.

**_Eboni_** – Heh heh heh, good question, eh? Come by my livejournal, I'll post the transcript there (don't wanna upset the powers that be here at ff, you know).

**_StarPrincessMeesa_** – I must read that… You know, ever since my SchuMuse told me about the pancakes, I've been whining to YohjiDeranged to drive about half an hour (!) to the nearest IHOP…she keeps saying "no". (I think that's her BradMuse talking…)

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – Thank you. My Schwarz is very much a family, with hopes and fears and dreams all tangled up among them. I'm glad it comes through in the writing.

**_May_** – Heh heh, yeah, I'm mean. And thank you; sometimes it's only their caring for each other that will move them along.


	70. 70

**Special Note from GuiltyRed:**

The countdown is on. "Coming Home" is almost current at my livejournal (guiltyred underscore fics), and that will signal the end of public-site postings for this story. My livejournal is open to everyone, I hope you all come to read it in its natural state and I hope you stay along for the remainder of the ride. There will be one, possibly two more chapters posted here after this one. I apologize again for any inconvenience, and if you have trouble getting to my livejournal, email me (available through my profile here) and I will work something out with you.

Thank you,

GR

**70**

_I've heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord_

April slid into the past with no sign of our teammates.

Nagi and I had driven, hitchhiked, and trudged our way across Europe, searching for them at every turn. Sometimes we'd found hunters searching for us; at those times we crept with pounding hearts beneath their notice, and ran. Without Brad's guidance, I couldn't remember what safety felt like anymore.

I'd managed to keep us supplied with food and disguise stuff, though the nutritional value of the one and the effectiveness of the other were in serious doubt. Nagi was barely eating, again. He seemed to subsist on air, water, and granola bars, in that order. It amazed me how inconvenient convenience foods really could be – anything more substantial was hard to carry, or didn't last in a summer-heated backpack.

Now we both looked like eccentric art students or something, with shabby haircuts and fading dye jobs and that lean, hungry look only classic poets and modern models seem to have.

The noise and crowd of the London train station gave us a sense of cover, though I was beginning to suspect that any hunters wouldn't give a damn if there were witnesses. Just because they hadn't acted in front of normals didn't mean jack at this point. They could always change their method, and clean up the mess after the fact. After all, they'd been on the job for over a year now. They were sure to be getting a little anxious.

I leaned back against the cold metal seat and sighed, my abused hair spilling over my shoulders in a ginger tangle. It occurred to me that I should really color it again, but I was beginning to worry that the damn stuff would start falling out from spite if I dared. It was easier than wondering where to go next.

An old man with a cane hobbled over and parked himself next to me. "Ah, the vanity of youth," he murmured with a sidelong glance at me. His voice sounded quite young, and black coffee eyes gleamed from beneath fluffy white eyebrows.

:Brad: I stared, then remembered my cover and glanced down at the floor. :What the hell, you sneaking up on me like that:

:And here I thought you'd be happy to see me.:

:In case you hadn't noticed, Brad, I _haven't_ seen you yet, I've only seen your disguise, which is disturbingly convincing, by the way.:

Brad looked at his watch. He moved slowly and held his fingers at an awkward angle, like an old man with arthritis. Even his hands and wrists bore makeup, giving his skin a papery texture decorated with liver spots and fake white hair. :Get on your train, get your tickets stamped, then sneak off and meet me in the north parking lot. I'll wait there twelve minutes. You'd best hurry.:

Without answering the baffled look on Nagi's face, I told the kid to follow me and led him toward the platform. We did as Brad instructed, leaving the tickets onboard for good measure.

In the north parking lot, a gray sedan pulled up to the curb.

Brad was alone in the car.

:Schuldig, where's Far: Nagi asked, balking.

:Brad, is everything all right? Where's Farfarello:

:Get in and I'll tell you all about it.:

I opened the back door for Nagi, then slid into the front seat. Brad sped off, heading for the main thoroughfare.

"Farfarello decided that he had some business to attend to," Brad stated, his tone calm but urgent. "I can't bring him back alone, I tried that already. That's why I didn't meet with you in late April, as I'd foreseen. Things changed, which, with Farfarello, is almost a given."

"So, where is he?" I asked, not sure if I should be amused or alarmed by this turn of events.

Brad spared me a quick glance. "He's headed for Ireland."

"Oh, holy fuck."

"That's about the size of it," Brad replied, driving like a stuntman. A precognitive stuntman who knew how to avoid traffic and the police. "Last I knew he was on foot. That gives us a little time, but not much."

Leave it to Farfarello to turn a simple thing like running from Esset into a bona fide adventure.

We sped toward a private airstrip in the north of England, then Brad veered the car and aimed west. He followed his internal map while Nagi and I wondered if we were going to find our mad teammate in time to prevent disaster.

It didn't surprise me that Far had gotten away from Brad like that, or that Brad had such a good fix on his current whereabouts. Of all the team, the Irishman had always been the easiest one for Brad to track with his gift. Nagi, being like a son to him, was just too close, and so, apparently, was I.

"There!" Brad pointed out his window.

Farfarello sat in the crook of a massive oak tree, gazing down the hill below. Cautiously I reached out to his thoughts. I saw a humble churchyard in the valley, overlaid with images of dozens of other churchyards both real and imagined. The overriding feeling was one of calm, which was not necessarily a good sign.

As always, Far noticed my mind-touch. :Konnichiwa: he sent, his mental accent flawless. :You're here to stop me, I suppose.: He did not look at the car.

:Do I need to: I asked as Brad parked beside the tree; he left the engine running. I checked my gun before getting out of the vehicle. :What are you planning to do here:

:Vespers. I wanted to listen to the bells.:

:Mind if we listen with you: I looked up at him, perched in the tree. He had that loose-limbed calm about him that spoke of murder.

"God's music is free," he whispered.

I knew that Brad had palmed one of the hypos out of a no-doubt dwindling supply, and I had the brief, absurd image of a wildlife show where a darted bear topples out of its tree in a boneless heap.

Whether he picked it up from me or merely knew, Far whispered, "I don't want a nap, Crawford, but thanks for thinking of me."

"Farfarello," Nagi called softly, his voice almost trembling, "please come down."

I stared at the kid. Nagi had never gotten directly involved before, certainly never invited Far's attention when the Irishman was in one of "those" moods. This was an interesting turn of events; I couldn't tell if Brad had expected it or not.

Far, at least, seemed just as surprised as I was. He looked down at our young teammate and frowned thoughtfully. "Why?"

Nagi stood his ground, staring up at the mad Irishman. "Because we can't stay here, and we won't leave you behind. We have to go."

Farfarello seemed to consider this, running it through whatever logic algorithm he had in his head at the moment. He regarded Nagi with a curious half-smile that made his scarred face look much younger. With the grace of a leopard he dropped to the grass and half-knelt before Nagi, head bowed. "As you wish," he murmured.

Before I could sort out what had just happened, Brad had opened the car doors nearest us then strode around to the other side. "Nagi, front seat," Brad ordered. "Schuldig, drive."

We got into the car as directed, Far not even bothering to look back at the church.

A/N: 

_I've heard there was a secret chord that David played, and it pleased the Lord_

The song is "Hallelujah", sung by Rufus Wainright on the _Shrek_ soundtrack. Through a religious reference at the start, it goes on to tell a tale of tragedy and heartache, a tale the good men of Schwarz no doubt know firsthand.

And we get to see a return of Brad Crawford, Chameleon. This is the man who turned the hunt on its ear, and with good reason. He knows what they're looking for, and manages to not be it.

**Review Mailbag:**

**_Skippys Cat_** – (ch 68) I hope your chaos is manageable, I've had a bout of that myself lately. hugs

"Or Nagi with a fever . . . geez the kid could level whole blocks." No kidding! That…would be SCARY.

"Damn he really needs to be a mind reader and an Empath. Then he'd know that Schu is telling the truth. The heart can love more than one Brad and actually love them equally just that touch differently to set them apart and not one over the other." Ah, but maybe Brad is wrestling with that very issue himself…

"I've added your LJ to my friends list so that I will get your updates right away. I've already got your website saved in Faves so I'm ready for the change over! Geez I guess that tells you what my final decision is doesn't it?" grin Glad to have you along, my friend.

(ch 69) – "The story rocks but the situation bites. I figure a real period of peaceful happiness is out of the question isn't it?" Not necessarily, but peace usually comes with a price tag.

**_Shadowgirl_** – "Mind you I once played chess (with Lord of the Rings figures as the pieces) against myself while I had a fever, that was special." Who won?

**_Poco-poco_** – Thank you! Sorry it took me so long to post the next chapter, life kind of intruded for a while. But I'm better now. grin

**_Eternal-Darkness_** – Pleasing the Yohji/Schu fans, am I? Heh heh heh… Cryptic jealousy, don't you just love it? Doesn't that just scream "daytime talk show"?

**_Bnomiko_** – I'm glad you're coming with us, the move is imminent.

The love between Brad and Schu is a complex and strange beast, one that neither man can easily fathom at this time.

**_Mistress Of Anime_** – You know, I'd love to see a picture inspired by that scene myself… hint hint to any artists out there!

Like a rollercoaster with faulty safety bars.

**_Tysoyo Kalli_** – Schu misses Yohji pretty badly too. And I'm thinking about that precog diary business. It's on the back burner, but it's cooking.

**_Eboni_** – "Brad is like a female with that, lol. Says he doesn't care...but oh yeah he does." ahem – possible spoiler UKE!

"He'll come after folks with hammers and nails screamings: Lets see if you rise again!" Yikes! Here, bunny bunny…

And, no problem on the rambling. It shows I scrambled your brain with this one, and that means it's all going according to plan. grin


	71. 71

**Special Note from GuiltyRed:**

One more chapter to go before this story goes to livejournal. Directions have been posted along the way. I apologize again for any inconvenience, and if you have trouble getting to my livejournal, email me (available through my profile here) and I will work something out with you.

Thank you,

GR

**71**

_but you don't really care for music, do you?_

Back on the mainland of Europe, we again wandered in a rough circle as though leading any hunters in a crazy dance. I figured this was more of a delaying tactic than anything, just a way to keep moving while Brad decided what to do next. At least, with the team together, we had the sense of being on top of the situation again.

I couldn't help but wonder how long this could go on. We'd been running over a year, with a few close calls but no decisive confrontation to end things once and for all. I wasn't really certain I wanted a decisive confrontation, actually, but the seemingly aimless running was getting old. We camped, we lived out of cars, and we counted ourselves lucky whenever Brad got us into a real room, even if that room was a storeroom at a foul-smelling warehouse. I was almost ready to suggest we all fucking go over to Kritiker, just to put an end to it.

Then I'd remember what Brad had told us of his vision, and his understanding of the forces hunting us, and I put that idea firmly away. Though it might not make sense now, the future had plans for us. All we had to do was survive long enough to show up for them.

One late summer night, as we camped under the stars and crickets hummed to themselves, I looked back on our travels to date and caught myself smiling. All in all, it hadn't really been that bad. Brad kept us one step ahead of pursuit, or twenty steps, or one bare breath; it didn't matter, only that he was carrying the greatest burden of us all, and carrying it with grace. His hair was distinctly gray at the temples now, and his eyes weary, but the fire within promised no surrender, and reminded me why I followed him. He was Brad Crawford, and he knew how our lives must play out, even if he could never breathe a word of it.

"What? What is that look?" Brad murmured, and I realized I'd been staring at him with a goofy smile on my face.

I shook my head, shaggy russet hair reminding me that I could use a real haircut one of these days. Brad's hair was longer, too, almost long enough to tie back in a gangster ponytail. I smiled again and said, "Just thinking about our lives, the weird turns they've taken."

Brad snorted and tossed more wood on our campfire. Other campers sent up their own signals into the languid night, and since most if not all of them had hunting rifles we felt fairly safe in their midst. Any trouble would be quickly dealt with, unless a team of telepaths grabbed all the campers' minds…

"Won't happen," Brad reassured me, picking up the thought. "I've Seen enough to believe they're looking for us in the wrong place right now. So far, it's been guiding us well. I trust this one."

Farfarello regarded him with a curious tilt of the head. "Crawford, question. If you can't see things about those closest to you, how do you know we're safe here? What are you looking at?"

Brad smiled that cool smile of his and said, "I haven't Seen any of our guns being cleaned after firing. Not in the near future, anyway."

Far smiled and nodded. "Objects are easier than men, aren't they?"

"In many things, Far. In many things."

We didn't post a guard, since Far slept like a junkyard dog at the best of times. Anyone intent on mischief would find much more than they'd bargained for. I stared up at the sky until I thought I saw a shooting star, then made a wish.

Brad whimpered in his sleep. He threw one arm up as if to ward off a blow as the whimper turned into a low moan that made me think of ghosts.

I crept to his side, mindful of the loaded gun by his restless hand. Careful not to fall into his dreaming mind, I called out his name. :Brad. Brad, wake up. It's okay, I'm here.: I reached for him, leaning in deeper than I normally would have dared.

Images threatened to drag me into the dangerous waters of sleep, where memory and fancy merge. Like the edges of an old mariner's map, the warning sign read "here there be monsters" right before one might plunge over the edge and into the aether. My concentration slipped a fraction, and I felt myself slide under. I saw what looked like a castle courtyard, with high walls of darkened stone, and fire, and a beautiful youth with the eyes of an angel. A voice whispered the name "Bradley"…

"Schuldig, snap out of it!" Brad shook me by the shoulders, my head lolling bonelessly with each move. Slowly, too slowly, the world started to reassert itself around me, calling me back to myself with the trill of crickets.

"Bradley," I whispered, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth.

Brad stared, his expression one of mingled shock and dread; then he pinched me hard on the ear.

"Ow! Hey!" I flinched back, my groggy mind snapping to full alertness. The dream images broke apart like smoke.

"What possessed you to do such a stupid thing? You know better than to go into a dreaming mind even when you're at your best, and you are not, need I remind you, at your best right now." Brad's breath came in ragged gasps, as though he'd been startled out of a deep sleep. He wiped absently at his eyes, not bothering to reach for his glasses.

Then I remembered what had happened, and I realized he had been rudely awakened, by me. "Damn, I'm sorry," I murmured, looking around to see if we'd woken the others. We hadn't, probably thanks to Brad's pinching me rather than slapping me awake. "You were having a nightmare, I didn't want you drawing any attention."

Brad nodded absently. He looked distracted, like he was caught in a vision, or the comet-tail of dreams. "Thank you, Schuldig," he murmured, his voice still rough.

"Want to talk about it? I think you're getting repeaters again." Something about this dream had tried to come with me, but the shock of breaking the contact had shattered the remnants to ash.

Brad shook his head. "No, not really," he whispered. "It happens from time to time, nothing to worry about."

I regarded my own sleeping pallet, then his, and said, "Well, would you like some company tonight? Nothing kinky, just…company?"

Brad reached out and cupped my chin in his hand. He gazed into my eyes for many moments; his own eyes reflected the starlight. He took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then nodded. "I'd like that, actually."

We bedded down together, him holding me and me snuggled warmly against his chest. He draped his arm over my waist and buried his face in my hair. Suddenly he seemed just as young and frightened as any of us, though Brad was haunted by his future as well as his past. I sighed and relaxed back into him, wondering which direction of time had sent him his nightmare.

"_Bradley…"_

Some sense of being watched dragged me out of my sleep. Dreams did not follow. Farfarello sat a short distance away, contemplating our sleeping arrangement.

:Far? You okay: I asked, disengaging from Brad's embrace and locating his gun.

:Aye. You:

:Fine, thank you for asking. What's going on:

The Irishman heaved a sigh and looked toward the moon. :You're lucky, you know that? More than you can count.:

I had no idea where he was going with this, and that was usually a bad sign. Farfarello had his own map of the ancient mariners, and beyond the edges the monsters were real. I frowned at him. :Thanks, I think. Shouldn't you be sleeping:

:Can't. Too many thoughts.: He looked away from me, from the sky. :Too many if-onlys.:

Careful not to wake Brad, I got up and approached Farfarello. I wanted to get him away from the others, in case this was about to explode into a bad situation. :Want to talk about it: I offered, not sure how best to proceed now.

Far rose from his crouch and walked with me a little ways away, his stride loose and steady. :What is the value of a man, Schuldig? Is it in his service, to lord, God, and country? Or is it something else that makes a life worth living:

:Being able to look at oneself in the morning mirror is a big part of it: I replied. For a moment this conversation seemed connected to Brad's nightmare, though I had no clue why I would think such a thing.

:Is it in loving, or in being loved, that we find worth, then: Far stared at me with that inscrutable gold eye. Hunger gleamed within it.

I reached for the best answer I could give him. :I think they say it's in loving someone else that we are at our best. Why:

Far scowled a moment. Then his shields came up and locked me out of his thoughts. "No reason."

I stared at him a moment, astonished that he would block me like that. Then it hit me, and I gaped at him. "Far, are you in love?"

"I didn't say that," he hedged, clearly wanting to back out of the discussion.

I wasn't about to let him. "Come on, talk to me! We're best friends, for crying out loud!" It occurred to me that I might be the object of his affection, and that was why he didn't want to tell me. My mind started concocting ways I could let him down easy. Far was my friend, nothing less but nothing more.

"It wouldn't matter if I was, there's not a thing to do for it now." Far started walking back toward the camp. Then he paused, back still to me, and asked, "What would you do, in my place, Schuldig? Would you tell him? Or would you hold your silence?"

Him? Tell him? Wait a minute… "Far," I breathed, "are you in love with Nagi?"

He bowed his head. "None of your business."

I strode around in front of him and tried to make eye contact. He avoided me. "Far, there's nothing wrong with love," I said, tasting the hollowness in my words as they fell from my tongue. I didn't really believe that, I hadn't believed in the purity of love for a very long time. Yet it was the only thing I could think to tell him. If his obsession with Nagi had gone from religious mania to paranoid theory to some form of affection, who was I to say that wasn't an improvement? And, who was I to call it wrong?

"There's everything wrong with it," he hissed, glaring at me. "I can't spend two days without losing part of that time, and I know what I do during the blank spots. I know what I've done to the boy already. Madmen do not have the options of the sane, Schuldig. It's just not possible."

"What, so you'll stare at him and obsess and pine, and never tell him how you feel?" I blurted, getting unaccountably angry with him. "Think, man! You deserve to be happy as much as anyone!"

"And the boy deserves to be safe, as much as anyone. And I am definitely not safe."

"There comes a time when we all have to choose between safety and freedom," I rambled, the words tumbling from an unknown reservoir. "Do you want to die never telling him you loved him?"

Far drew himself up and said, "It would be for the best."

"How are you so certain?"

"Let it alone, Schuldig. I'm tired." He turned and started back to the camp again.

"If you didn't want my advice, why the fuck did you wake me up?"

"Go back to your bed," Farfarello snarled, "and let me be."

I reached for his arm. "Far, come on. You've got to tell him."

"I told you to let me be!" My friend pulled sharply away, then sprinted toward a stand of trees on the far side of the campground.

I shook my head in mingled aggravation and sorrow. It explained so much, while solving nothing. His fascination with Nagi had begun small, growing as our team grew closer. Far had never given a hint of this, though. It had all seemed a manifestation of his madness, the staring, the stalking, the occasional cutting. Add unrequited love into the mix and the situation became a timebomb.

With reluctant steps I returned to our little camp to find Brad keeping watch, his gun in hand.

:Far left: I told him.

Brad only nodded. :He won't be gone long. We're still leaving tomorrow. Don't worry, he'll find us again before we leave the country.:

He didn't say if that would be a good thing, or a bad.

A/N: 

_but you don't really care for music, do you?_

"Hallelujah", continued.

During their absence from one another, it seems that not only has Nagi gained a new confidence around Farfarello, but the Irishman has discovered things as well.

One might wonder with Schuldig what that all has to do with Brad's recurring nightmare – a love denied, a heart in pain? – and whether it will drive both men mad (or further mad) before it's done with them.

**Review Mailbag:**

**_May_** – Be afraid. Be very afraid.

**_Shadowgirl_** – shhhh! Don't say the "A" word around Far! He's not very stable! (Have you ever seen "Hellsing"? Far reminds me of the Paladin…shudder)

Thank you for your applause. I rather like that aspect of writing him. Brad gets vague glimpses, but very little of use when it comes to those closest to him. That's why he's driving Schuldig nuts with it.

**_Sleepy MOA_** – smile couldn't resist calling you that.

There is an odd sort of connection between Far and Nagi, for good or for ill.

LOL! My Schuldig's birthday is in April too…

**_Poco-poco_** – Did you even wonder this possibility? evil!writer giggle

**_Amakurikara_** – A week? Wow… I'm geeked that you love it so much! I hope you follow my stories over to livejournal – this one's moving there too eventually, and I don't want to lose any readers along the way.


	72. 72

**72**

_Let's show Oliver how it's done, shall we, my dears?_

:You both know the drill. Let's see if we can make this happen.:

I sighed and nodded. Brad Crawford was not one to waste a training opportunity. :You ready, kiddo:

:Hai.:

With Farfarello out on his own somewhere, the three of us had a good chance to tighten up our skills together, though I suspected this was more to distract us from our worry. I hated the thought of our mad teammate wandering the countryside in a fit of unrequited love, but there wasn't a damn thing any of us could do about it. So we used the time creatively, under Brad's inspired command, and now I was getting ready to shoplift from a crowded music store in the middle of a shopping center in Liverpool.

I did say it was inspired.

Tight jeans, low boots, and a designer t-shirt served as camouflage here, as I strutted through the aisles of overpriced CDs and rare imports. I caught sight of myself in one of their security mirrors, and flirted with my own reflection. Freshly dyed hair signaled an imminent return to my natural color, as the upkeep on it was proving more of a hassle than it was worth. Brad had even suggested it, handing me the color kit with a fox-haired woman on the label. I couldn't help but smirk at the thought that, just maybe, Brad missed the red.

My fingers trailed over the cases, flipping them forward as I searched for something worth taking. This was only an exercise, but I felt no reason to be wasteful about it. I found some more of that tasty goth music as well as something advertising itself as operatic heavy metal. That should be entertaining.

I took my find toward the front of the store. :Nagi, you're up.:

A brief moment of hilarity crossed my mind as I prepared to do my part of the exercise. But quoting Obi Wan Kenobi would not be the best way to cloud the minds of these unwary folks, as they'd probably all seen the movie a dozen times each and would recognize the line at once. In fact, as I wove my telepathic web about them, I discovered that one fellow considered himself a bona-fide Jedi Knight. I fought down the snicker and got to work.

Carrying my soon-to-be bargain discs to the counter, I wrapped my mind around the cashier's; I already had a hold on the other customers who were within line of sight of the transaction. The girl smiled, eyes blank, as she hit buttons on the cash register. On impulse I embellished the suggestion a little. She gave me change for an imaginary payment.

I thanked her and wished her a lovely day, held firmly to her thoughts and those of the other people nearby, and headed for the exit. If the alarm went off, I could keep them from hearing it or reacting, but the rest of the mall would know. We'd be able to get away, but it wouldn't be the neat and clean operation Brad had in mind.

My stride didn't falter as I took the security-tagged items past the electronic sensors.

The alarm did not go off.

The lights at the base of the sensors gave a brief flicker, as with a momentary break in the power, but not enough to trigger them.

Outside, Brad sipped a drink in a paper cup while Nagi slouched on a bench and looked bored.

I joined them and grinned. :Perfect, kiddo! The thing didn't even squeak.:

Nagi rolled his eyes. He looked like he had a mild headache. :Schuldig, those sensors never squeak. They buzz.: Turning his attention to Crawford, Nagi asked::Did it work the way you expected it to, Crawford-san:

:That depends. Both of you – any ill effects? Headache, fatigue, nausea:

:I'm fine: I replied::a little tired but nothing bad. Though I might have the nausea after I listen to this one CD I got…:

:Headache, a little queasy. But electronics have always been easier for me than anything else. It wasn't that hard.:

We walked through the mall, fine-tuning our new tactic at select stores. I wondered for a moment if Brad had watched "Oliver!" too many times or something, or if he had some deeper reason for this little crime wave. It wasn't like we were stealing highly useful things, though I did appropriate some new clothing and shoes along the way. We'd be in for another round of "keep or pitch" when we were done, as there was no way in Hell I was going to carry all this shit in my backpack.

As the hot afternoon faded into a milder evening, Crawford drove us to an actual hotel for the night. I had to use my gift again to sneak us in without registering, and without the clerk noticing the key was gone for about eighteen hours. My head was starting to really hurt by that time; I knew I'd overdone it, and so did Brad. Between my condition and Nagi's pain-stained eyes, no wonder our leader saw fit to get us real beds for a change.

After a decent meal – at least they knew how to serve fish in England – Nagi curled up on one of the beds and dozed off, giving me some much-needed time to talk with Brad. My brain wouldn't allow any more silent speech that day.

"So, how did we do?"

"Very well, actually. I'm quite impressed with you both." Brad leaned against the dresser and smiled at me. "We've been living on the fringes so long I'd forgotten what a joy it can be to run team exercises. I think we'll be doing much more of this in the future, keep us from getting rusty. And give us the chance to try new tactics."

"Okay, Fagin, are you going to tell me what the point was, or do I go on picking embroidery out of fancy handkerchiefs?" I asked with a grin. Brad knew my love of older movies, and if he didn't catch the reference, it would just be too bad for him.

But he surprised me by laughing softly and saying, "As long as you don't burst into song about it and scare Nagi. No, there was a point to it, Schuldig. A very important point, and I can't yet guarantee that the exercise will fulfill it. We have more testing to do yet. But basically, think about this: where else might we need to confuse the eye and confound the detection equipment? I'm thinking long-term usefulness, here."

I pondered a moment before murmuring, "Customs?"

"Any checkpoint, actually." He regarded me with a serious expression and said, "From now on, we travel brazenly armed. None of this sneaking about and bypassing security, we're going in head-on, only invisible."

"But, won't the cameras still pick us up?" I asked, trying to guess what his reasoning might be. "Or is Nagi learning how to mess them up, too?"

Brad smirked and adjusted his glasses. "Either way, we come out ahead. If we want to lead the hunters in a certain direction, we allow the camera to track us. If we want to disappear, the camera lies. But first, we have to make them believe that the camera never lies."

"Brilliant, oh evil leader!" I chuckled. "You've really learned a lot from me, in the mindgames department. I'm impressed!"

He shook his head, one hand raised in demure negation. "Actually, I've been taught by someone far more skilled than even you, Schuldig. It's been a long time coming, but now they're going to see just how much I've learned. And they'll probably regret ever bringing me to Germany."

The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. Brad never talked about his past, and this was almost an invitation.

"No, it's not. You're tired. Get some sleep."

We repeated the exercise several times over the following days, with increasing smoothness and confidence. Finally Brad declared that it was time to use our newly honed skills for real. The next morning saw the three of us appropriate a car and make our way to the airport at London. Brad drove, and I had the feeling he was looking for something other than the terminal.

A hitchhiker walked along the side of the highway.

Brad pulled over.

One golden eye looked up, glimmering in recognition. The scarred face creased into a smile.

"Well?" Brad asked as Farfarello slipped into the back seat.

"A few."

I stared at Brad a moment, then asked::What the fuck? What are you talking about:

Brad ignored me. "You know the rules, Farfarello. One slip…"

"Aye, I know. And you should know, I don't slip."

"Very well. Keep it that way." Brad made eye contact with Far through the rear-view mirror. "Good work."

Far slouched down in the seat and started dozing.

I glared at our leader. :Do you mind telling me just what the fuck that was about:

:Pest control.:

:You mean, you knew –:

:I Saw Farfarello make our departure a little cleaner, that was all.: Brad glanced sidelong at me and added::Don't worry, they never saw him coming. They never will.:

On arrival at the airport, Brad instructed each of us to arm for a fight. He, Nagi and I sported shoulder holsters beneath light jackets, while Farfarello was a veritable pincushion of concealed knives. We should have set off the security alarms just by walking in the front door.

I strode at the head of the team, Farfarello behind me. Nagi stayed back a few steps to give him a clean line of sight on any electronic sensors in our path. And Brad followed behind, to give us cover in case anything went wrong.

Tickets? No problem. We're right in your computer, see? Four ticketed passengers, business class. I smiled at the clerk, she smiled back and stamped our boarding passes. Passports? Right here, sir. My smile wavered a little as the headache swelled up, but I wasn't about to let Brad down. We'd invested too much effort in this tactic, it had to work. I had to make it work.

And when we lined up to go through the metal detector, the two-dozen civilians and staff noticed nothing out of the ordinary. I carried my loaded pistol right through, with Far at my heels. Even without knives on his person, Farfarello always set off the alarms: he had more steel pins in his teeth and bones than anyone else I'd ever heard of. When you don't feel pain, it's harder to allow injuries to just heal, so he always had medical intervention in the form of screws and supports drilled into his skeleton.

He strolled through without a chirp.

Brad's plan had worked.

By noon, we were on our way to America.

A/N 

_Let's show Oliver how it's done, shall we, my dears?_

I was tempted to not use the song "You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two" from "Oliver!" for this chapter, as I don't seem to have a copy of it outside of the movie…then I realized, why worry about posting the song when I can tell my readers to just rent the movie? It's worth it! Besides, after letting Schuldig get that song stuck in his head, I couldn't find a better quote… ;;

"Okay, Fagin, are you going to tell me what the point was, or do I go on picking embroidery out of fancy handkerchiefs?" – The reference is from "Oliver!", the musical rendition of Oliver Twist. As Schuldig himself confessed, the German has a thing for older movies. And for those who haven't seen it or read the original, Fagin is the man who "recruits" street boys to steal for him, sort of a thief-pimp.

Special Notice from GuiltyRed:

As Schwarz speed toward America, this story is speeding toward LiveJournal and my website. There will be no more updates here at fanfiction-dot-net. If you are using the ff author-alerts system to know when to find an update, I am providing a similar e-mail service. I know what a hassle it can be to check everyday for updates to my stories only to find that real life has interfered with writing progress. I am also very aware that if you have a very active LJ friends list, you may miss a chapter or two in the bustle. So I have a way to help my readers keep track of my new posted chapters.

Here's how it works:

Send me an email with your email address and the stories that you are currently reading that you would like an Author Alert for. This way, you will be contacted via email every time I post a new chapter and you won't have to go digging for it.

Not to worry, I won't send you spam or frivolous emails, or sell your email address to a mailing list. The only thing I will email you is the Author Alert you have requested. I'll even send you the direct link to that particular entry, so you don't have to look for it.

I hope the move to livejournal/website is easy for everyone, I'd hate to lose any readers due to the change of venue. Again, if you have any questions or concerns, or wish to have story update alerts sent to you, please let me know – my email address is wersofthegrieve AT aol DOT com.

Sincerely,

GR

**_Poco-poco_** – Thank you! He does need some good company, but you're right – it might not be the safest occupation.

**_Maya_** – grin That does seem to be the consensus, doesn't it – that Far-lovin' might be hazardous to one's health.

**_Shadowgirl_** – "They're the semes of their own destiny!" snerk! Priceless!

"Interesting that his hair is turning gray. Poor guy, but I love the fact that a fire is burning strong within."

The Sight does age its vessels, you know. And, amazing how Schuldig can recognize the fire when Crawford believes all that's left is the embers…

"Wow…the description is phenomenal and it feels like you get pulled into the dream when you read the passage."

Thank you.

"sighs happily Ah, fluff…someone should draw this! Lol"

Someone did! grin And I love it! Thank you for sharing!

**_Arileo_** – Question is, did Crawford see it coming?

**_Skippys Cat_** – (ch 71) Funny how you and I are often on the same wavelength. Maybe my Schuldig-muse is visiting your mind while you're looking the other way.

Yes, Europe has just gotten too hot for them. With any luck, the hunters won't be expecting this change of venue…

"But seeing Schu low is like Omi losing that genki smile even when you know it doesn't reach his eyes."

Very well put.

And for the inquiring mind – yes, that was him.

"And honestly it's hard to tell which of them stands on the outside the most. The more I watch the more I tend to think it's Brad. It's the curse of his gift."

Also well put. Each one is isolated in his own way, but only Crawford cannot even comfort his own soul. The things he Sees haunt him.

**_Skippys Cat_** – (ch 70) I understand totally about RL chaos – in the midst of some myself. hugs

I'm leaving the stories posted, just not updating here. That way, it's like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for anyone else who wants to read. I'll be explaining more in my user profile, so folks don't get caught up in the stories only to find them moved. I'm trying to be as user-friendly as possible.

**_Amakurikara_** – Thank you! And this chapter is the last FF-net posting for this story, all others to be in livejournal and my website only from here on out.

**_Wide Awake MOA grin_** – "At times they seem so close like a married couple comfortable around each other, while other times Brad is more or less shoving poor Schu away from him not allowing himself to love and trying to stop SchuSchu from loving him back but he stays so loyal."

Exactly so. You can tell Brad cares, but something (in his past, maybe?) has made him afraid to admit his feelings. It's as if he's afraid that the moment he allows himself to love, Schuldig will vanish into thin air…

**_May_** – Wait till you see Farfarello's Texas side…

**_Alexielia_** – Thank you! I see Farfarello as perhaps the most human of the team, with his wisdom and his doubts all tangling together. It's like he's experiencing all the things that separate man from God, all in one lifetime. And all at once.

Perhaps the only difference between sanity and madness…is time.

**_S.K Hashmi_** – Very good catch, there. Crawford is gambling that his use of gunfire as a barometer of their safety is a valid test. He knows his own preference for armed combat, and Schuldig's as well; odds are good that any trouble would indeed lead to a firefight.

But odds are not absolute.

**_Eboni_** – grin No matter if you skip a review, so long as you're still hooked. That's how fic-pimps like me stay in business.

LOL! Your commentary on Far in love was perfect!

As for the livejournal navigation issues, I'm offering an author-alerts service with a direct link to the current chapter, if you're interested. Details above and in my livejournal itself. Just let me know.


	73. 73

**73**

_I get my kicks on Route 66_

"You're kidding, right?"

Crawford wiped sweat from his eyes before replacing his glasses and gracing me with a weary glare. "No, Schuldig. I'm not."

"Flea powder."

"Yes."

"Shit, Brad, I thought America was going to be an improvement!" I'd never been there before, but from all I'd heard it was a self-proclaimed high point of the civilized world. And now Crawford was telling me to put flea powder in my socks.

"It's summer, Schuldig. Almost fall. Flea and tick season. Get used to it." Brad finished sprinkling the tobacco-scented powder into his shoes, then handed the canister to me.

"Fuck."

"At least it's not lice," Nagi offered, wiping insecticide-dusty hands over his clothes. These weren't the nice clothes I'd appropriated back in England – we'd just finished stashing those in the trunk of the car. No, like the rest of us, Nagi wore nondescript clothing purchased in a second-hand store in Dallas. We all looked like beggars, in my opinion, but Brad had called it protective coloring. In any case, Nagi looked as uncomfortable about it as I felt. He sniffed reprovingly at the chemical on his skin, then reached for a packet containing a pre-moistened towelette that smelled like lemon oil; the advertising on the courtesy pack claimed it could remove barbecue grease better than the competitor's brand.

"Fleas are worse," Far muttered as he shrugged into a dark gray t-shirt with a picture of a motorcycle on it. The shirt seemed to complement his shabby blue-jeans and yellowish leather boots with well-worn heels. Farfarello removed his eyepatch and donned a pair of ultra-dark wrap-around sunglasses, then topped the whole thing off with a faded black cowboy hat. The effect was unsettling.

"Tell me again why we're here," I asked as I dumped way too much flea powder into my right sneaker.

Brad sighed and looked up at the cloudless sky. Heat shimmered on the horizon. "They were getting too close. This was our best surprise move. I wish we hadn't had to use it so early, but that can't be helped." He watched as I struggled to transfer the excess powder from one sneaker to the other, then took both shoes from me and neatly finished the job, scattering the excess powder over the floorboards of the car. "Besides," he added, handing me back my shoes, "there are things we can get here that we will need. I know how to use the system in the States. We can get around fairly easily, as long as we stay sharp. Now, there _are_ Esset operatives in this country; we can't afford to get too comfortable. But I think the change of scenery will do us some good."

"In other words," Far observed as he tore open a wet towelette and cleaned the powder from his hands, "you're looking for something."

Crawford smiled thinly. "Of course." He gestured at the car. "Get in."

Brad drove; I sat beside him, staring out my window. The dirt showing through the sparse brown grass seemed to suck in light and heat until it turned dull red. "Where are we, anyway?" I asked. Only the old westerns showed such a desolate landscape, and I'd thought those were faked.

"Desolate?" Brad asked with a sidelong smirk. "You think this is desolate? Be happy we're not in Arizona. And fix your shields!"

I sank back into the passenger seat and pouted. The entire car smelled like a humidor coated with lemon furniture polish, not a bad smell but rather disconcerting. I picked up the can of bug poison. "They use this on tomato plants? And dogs?"

"It's safe for humans and cats," Brad stated. "Don't even start it, Schuldig. You'll be glad we have that stuff. Trust me."

"Is that the Oracle talking, or the American?" I grumbled.

"Both." Brad was nearly laughing, which only made me angrier.

From the back seat came the sound of Farfarello singing along with the radio. "Goes from St. Louie down to Missouri, Oklahoma City looks oh so pretty…"

"Is that where we are?" I muttered. "I thought we were on Mars."

Brad shook his head. "Oklahoma, Schuldig. But only for about another hour or so."

I stared out the window. "Damn, it's flat."

The road poured by us like a river. From the radio came a seemingly bottomless assortment of old rock songs interspersed with ads for cars, beer, and bail bonds. I found myself almost dozing, mesmerized by the monotony.

The sky took on an indigo shade as night rolled over the horizon; to our right, a road sign announced we had wandered into Missouri.

It didn't look that different.

Brad pulled into a petro stop and parked. The fluorescent lights high overhead defied the coming darkness, bathing everything in a sharp blue-white glow. Around us rumbled the massive trucks that hauled cargo across the country.

The shop itself housed not only the fuel business but also a restaurant and a laundromat. A sign in the window advertised that its bathrooms and pay showers were "certified clean".

::Um, Brad?::

"It's a truck stop," Brad stated, running a hand through his hair as if to make it look even more unkempt than it currently did. "Food's decent. Come on."

I sighed and followed him, with Nagi and Far trailing along behind.

As the little bell on the door announced our arrival, the guy at the register looked up and waved. "Frank! Welcome back!"

Not missing a beat, Brad strolled to the counter and returned the offered handshake with uncharacteristic vigor. "Heya, Charlie, how's th' wife 'n kids?"

His voice – he sounded like an Elvis impersonator, but it came out so naturally!

I looked at Nagi.

Nagi looked at Brad.

Far looked at the display of bumper stickers.

"Can't complain," Charlie said. "Don't get me started on the in-laws, though!" He gestured at Nagi. "That your boy there?"

Brad shook his head. "Naw, th' boy's stayin' with his mother fer a while. That there's Jack's exchange student, from Japan." Brad looked around as if he'd misplaced us, then gestured at me to join them. "Jack, c'mon over here!"

I hoped to hell Brad had his shields down as I groped for my script. Nagi followed me to the counter, watching everything very closely. I could feel his tension like a pulsating wall of static.

Brad introduced me as his brother-in-law from New York. I shook Charlie's hand and tried not to stare. His teeth were yellowed from chewing tobacco. In fact, he had a wad of it in his cheek even now; behind the cash register sat a paper cup half-full of brown strands and juice. The thought alone was enough to make me ill.

Brad continued talking like he did this all the time. "An' this here's Akira Yamamoto, from Okinawa." Then he paused and gave Nagi a little apologetic-looking bow. "Wait a sec, it'd be Yamamoto Akira, wouldn' it? Last name first? I can't seem to get used to that!"

Nagi almost rolled his eyes, then bowed slightly and said, "It's all right, I get that all the time. Pleased to meet you, Charlie-san."

"That means 'Mister Charlie'," Brad drawled with a down-home grin. "Kinda nice havin' a po-lite kid around for a change, ain't it?"

Charlie laughed. "Yeah, not like my kids!" He paused and spat into the paper cup.

Nagi's eyes widened, then he turned away and struggled to compose himself.

I tried not to laugh. Then I noticed the self-serve display of assorted dried meats – including a moist shredded variety of beef jerky that looked disturbingly like used chewing tobacco. Humor turned to queasiness in a heartbeat.

The clerk's thick-mouthed voice addressed me again, calling me away from my shocked scrutiny of the meat bins. "So, Jack, travelin' the country with old Frank here? Seein' the sights?"

"Yeah," I said, hoping I sounded vaguely New York-ish and not like I wanted to puke. "Frank thought we should all hook up for a road trip. It's been a while. At least his driving's improved," I added, tossing the verbal ball back to Brad.

"Oh, c'mon off it, Jack," Brad grinned. "You know I didn' hit that sow on purpose! That reminds me, you got pork chops today, Charlie?"

"Sure do, but you'd best hurry. We stop servin' dinner at ten – after that, it's breakfast only."

Brad glanced at his watch, then guided us toward the restaurant portion of the store.

Far walked as if he had the place memorized.

"Hey, Frank, where's the washroom here?" I wanted to scrub my hands before even thinking about food.

Brad pointed, and I reached the door only three steps ahead of Nagi. Once inside, I made sure we were alone before asking, "You okay, chibi? You look a little pale."

"That man is disgusting!" Nagi replied in Japanese.

I smiled a little and started washing up. Nagi's switch to his native language didn't faze me, as I knew that phrase well from our Takatori days. "At least he's nice."

"Define nice."

::How's your head?:: I asked, wanting to talk privately with the team but not wanting to give the kid a headache, either.

::It's okay. Just don't shout.::

We returned to the restaurant and joined the others at a wide, vinyl-seated booth. I brought Brad and Far into the link, then pounced. ::Okay, Brad, I have to know. This whole "Frank/Jack" thing – how did you set this up? And what else do I need to know for the act?::

::He set it up on our last trip to America,:: Far replied matter-of-factly. ::Your wife's brother, Frank, is a traveling salesman who loves fishing and whose own wife is threatening to leave him and take custody of his son.::

::…Really.:: I couldn't think of anything useful to add to that.

Nagi, however, asked::Why "Frank"?::

Brad smiled a little and replied::In case one of you slips and calls me "Brad". It's a close enough match, for speech and for lip-reading.::

Out loud, we discussed our menu options, with Brad drawling on like some kind of country-western act. I talked Nagi into trying the soup, though the kid seemed convinced that nothing here would be edible. He'd been having problems with the local food ever since arriving in this country. ::Look,:: I told him::I'm daring the pork chops because these people seem to have a love affair with meat. The soup's probably out of a can or something. You'll be fine.::

Brad chatted about road-trip things, Nagi smiled and nodded, Far tossed out the occasional comment, while I kept a different conversation moving on the mental level.

::So where are we going next?:: I asked, suppressing my amazement that the pork chops actually tasted pretty damn good. Then again, they were only making up for the coffee: I'd had better out of a vending machine.

::I'm playing things by ear at the moment, gentlemen,:: Brad told us. ::Hopefully confounding the mice a little. Enjoy your rest stop. As soon as I find what brought me here, we're hitting the road again.::

I frowned into my coffee cup. ::So you're following visions, just incomplete ones?::

::Basically.::

::Crawford,:: Nagi asked::won't people think it strange that Farfarello is wearing dark glasses at night?::

Brad smiled a little. ::They've never said anything before.::

::They think I'm famous,:: Far commented with a mental laugh.

I suppressed a grin. Brad's genius for planning never failed to amaze me. It made me wonder just what sort of mayhem those two had been up to last year.

After dinner, we wandered through the store, browsing idly among shelves of junk food and souvenirs. I gathered an armload of vaguely healthful snacks and bottled drinks, while Brad picked out automotive supplies and medicines. Far added a newspaper and a couple of travel magazines to the pile as Charlie rang us up.

While waiting for his change, Brad glanced down at a stack of canary yellow paper on the counter. He seemed to pause, then picked one up in slow motion. He read the flyer, then asked, "Where's this at?"

"Springfield. Couple hours drive. You lookin' for a motel?"

Brad picked up a bag of groceries and stuffed the flyer inside. "Ah seem to recall a place not too far from here." He grinned and winked at me and added, "It's just on down the road from a pancake house, matter oh fact."

::Ha, ha, Brad. I'm never going to live that down, am I?::

::Not if I can help it.::

We said our goodbyes, then headed for the car, Brad again taking the driver's seat. Far walked around the back of the car before getting in. He seemed rather smug about something; I'd have to ask him later. Right then, I wanted to know what was on that flyer. I dug in the bag and retrieved the obnoxiously bright sheet, getting a paper cut in the process. I cursed and sucked my finger as I read. "Gun and knife show?"

Brad smiled briefly, then closed his eyes a moment and said, "Try not to think about it too much. It's only an idle possibility, after all."

The best way for me to stop thinking about something was to sleep, so I did, dozing in the passenger seat and consigning myself to a badly cricked neck. I woke around midnight, when Brad exited the highway. The whine from the tires had changed pitch as the road surface changed from asphalt to concrete – damn, I must have been spending way too much time in a car if something like that could wake me up!

Brad parked in front of a run-down hotel with the "L" missing from the sign and a "Vacancy" notice in the office window. The night clerk here knew "Frank", too. He traded room keys for cash and a signature, told us where to find vending machines and an icemaker, and directed us through the back door and across the courtyard, past a shabby-looking swimming pool. On Brad's unspoken order, Far and I retrieved our belongings from the car and hauled everything around the main building.

The four of us convened in the nearer of our two rooms. Far set down his share of the luggage and helped himself to a glass of water from the bathroom. I dropped my bags with a grunt; damn things got heavier by the day.

::Heads up, people,:: Brad announced, unpacking his two pistols. ::We have work to do.::

::Is there trouble?:: I asked, not sensing anything.

::I didn't say we had a problem, I said we have work to do.:: He regarded me with an almost wicked sparkle in his eyes. ::Schuldig, Nagi – consider this a firearms inspection. I want your guns cleaned and presentable, get to it.:: Brad switched on the television and turned the volume up, then returned to his own weapons.

Within half an hour, every pistol in our possession lay clean and empty on oil-stained rags on the bathroom floor. I regarded Brad with mild concern as I asked::Are you going to explain, or are we spending the night unarmed just for the hell of it?::

Brad studied Nagi's Tomcat closely, squinting down the barrel. ::Load up, then, if it makes you feel better.::

::In other words, you're not going to explain.::

Picking up my pistol and reaching for a fresh rag, Crawford stated::Figure it out. I can't tell you any more than that.::

**A/N:**

_I get my kicks on Route 66_

"Route 66", originally by Bobby Troup, covered by almost everybody. (The version I have on my computer was covered by The Cramps on _Flamejob_.)

Contrary to the song, Schwarz is going east, not west. That California trip will just have to wait.

Funny, when people say "write what you know" I never expected this to come in handy. I grew up in Oklahoma, and I can attest to the usefulness of a can of Sevin Dust (5). It's the same chemical they use in VetKem Flea Powder (carbaryl). When used correctly, it's fairly safe for cats and kids (and tomatoes), and it doesn't smell nasty either. And if you grind it into your carpet, you'll never have fleas in your home again (or spiders, or ants…).

Oklahoma – flat as hell. And the dirt really is red.

**Weapons Notes –**

So far I've resisted the temptation to get technical about what kind of guns the men of Schwarz favor. It's too easy to get swept up in detail and forget why it's important, and I'm trying not to fall into that trap. The only specific weapon I mention is the Tomcat, and that more for curiosity than necessity.

The Beretta Tomcat is a small and easily concealed 32 caliber handgun. I tried to figure out what kind of pistol Nagi might be issued at Rosenkreuz, if he got one at all. A small caliber weapon in the hands of a telekinetic would be at least as dangerous as a more powerful weapon used by a trained 'normal', and with Nagi's small stature I think a smaller, more readily hidden gun would be in order. Besides, I can't imagine Brad giving up the chance for his team to carry around a little extra firepower. So, after a little research, Tomcat it is.


	74. 74

**74**

_Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys,  
'Cos they'll never stay home and they're always alone  
Even with someone they love._

::Figure it out, he says,:: I grumbled to Nagi as we claimed our own room for the night.

Nagi shrugged. ::Maybe he can't be any more specific because of the mice.::

I set my bags by the bed nearest the door. Bags, hell – two backpacks and a canvas satchel. I'd pretty much given up on ever having proper luggage again. Part of my mind wanted to decipher Brad's intentions, but the rest of it was too damn weary. I took my clean and freshly reloaded gun out of my waistband and placed it on the nightstand.

"Mind if I use the shower?" Nagi asked, pausing by the door.

"Let me get some water first," I told him, heading past him to fill up a glass. I drained it, filled it again, and carried it back to the bedroom.

"Do you want me to leave the shower running for you when I'm done?"

"Sure, I could use one."

"I noticed." Nagi shut the door before I could comment.

I sighed and flopped onto the bed. The room smelled vaguely musty; gun oil and flea powder didn't improve it any. Still, the bed was comfortable enough, and the sound of the running water was almost as soothing as rain.

Dreams faded slowly, leaving me foggy-headed. The clock on the nightstand said it was 5:30 in the morning. I struggled out from under a heavy coverlet, then realized it was the one from Nagi's bed. He'd apparently covered me with it, effectively sandwiching me between two of the things. Nagi lay curled up in his own bed, sleeping soundly.

"Damn," I muttered at myself. I hadn't intended to fall asleep like that, and never that deeply. Maybe a shower would wake me up. I picked out the clothes for the day and headed for the bathroom. At least I wouldn't smell like flea powder – not so strongly, anyway. Granted, everything we had smelled like tobacco to varying degrees, but at least this outfit didn't have the stuff ground into the fibers.

The cheap shampoo stung the neglected cut on my finger, adding insult to my already off-kilter morning. I finished washing up in a hurry before anything else could go wrong. Nagi had a first aid kit in his backpack, I'd raid it for a bandage as soon as I was decent.

My reflection in the steam-fogged mirror caught my attention, and I stared for a moment. The last year had not been kind. Living on a highly improvised diet wasn't doing me any good, and I knew it was hell on Nagi. Brad and Farfarello seemed to have cast iron stomachs: they could eat things that Nagi or I couldn't even bear to look at. I sighed at myself, the shadow of my ribs just becoming visible as I inhaled. We'd have to do something different about the food situation, or half the team would end up looking like self-starved Tibetan monks before Esset ever got their hands on us.

Deodorant, fresher clothing, and a bandage helped bring my mood back to neutral, if not good. "Chibi, I'm going to check on the others. I won't be long." ::It might look odd if we keep wandering between rooms carrying all our junk. You stay here, I'll be right back.::

Far answered the door. "Perfect timing. We were just trying to decide what to do about breakfast."

"Didn't you say something about a pancake house last night?" I asked Brad as he finished tying his sneakers.

Brad smirked. "Thought you didn't like pancakes."

I laughed a little and shook my head. "Let's not do that again, okay? I was just thinking it might be good for the kid, something bland like that."

Brad looked up at me with a frown. "Is he all right?"

"Remember, last night he was kind of dubious about the food? He's been having trouble with the local cuisine. Simple is best, and you can't get much simpler than pancakes."

"Well, unfortunately, this isn't the motel with the pancake house down the street," Brad stated, "though there is a McDonald's between here and Springfield."

I sighed. "Guess that'll do."

"Keep me posted on this. Is he nauseous again? Or just picky?" Brad asked, collecting his bags and heading for the door.

"Not sure. I'll try to find out more," I promised, not liking the hint of worry in his voice.

::I need to know the condition of my team, Schuldig. If one of you is incapacitated in any way, and I don't know about it, that could be a disaster for us all. Remember, I don't See things well when it comes to those close to me. Now, team link, if you please.::

I sought out Nagi's mind, and Far's. ::Ready.::

::Nagi, Schuldig, if you reloaded your guns last night I need you to unload them again. Leave the ammunition in your bags, keep the gun on your person. Concealment is the rule for the day. Schuldig, you will keep unnecessary eyes from noticing. I'll explain more later.::

I fought down the urge to argue with him about this. It seemed utter folly to carry around unloaded weapons, but clearly Brad had a plan and did not want to risk anyone finding out about it. Besides, Farfarello himself was a weapon, and one that was always set to go off.

Far, Nagi and I carried the bags to the car while Brad went back into the office to turn in our keys.

I told Nagi that we'd be getting breakfast at the Golden Arches, and he groaned. "Not again, I almost threw up last time!" His eyes looked huge, and desperate.

"Kiddo, try the pancakes without anything on them," I suggested. "You like the orange juice, right? And the powdered eggs?"

"I'll get a biscuit with egg on it and you can have the egg," Far offered.

Nagi sighed and nodded. "All right. They give you meat with the pancakes, don't they? You can have that, Far."

"It's a fair trade."

As I went to drop my bags in the trunk, something about the back end of the car caught my attention. I finished stowing my gear, then leaned down to take a closer look.

Our bumper now sported a jaunty blue tag proclaiming "God was my co-pilot, but we crashed in the mountains and I had to eat Him." Fitting commentary for a car driven by a devout atheist; I grinned. No wonder Far had looked so smug the night before.

When Brad returned from the office, I watched his thoughts to see if he noticed the bumper sticker. He paused, shook his head, and got in the driver's seat. "Nice try, Schuldig. But you're not getting in without an invitation." To Farfarello he merely said, "I presume it's yours?"

Far smiled and nodded pleasantly.

"At least we'll blend in." Brad started the car and aimed for the road.

Our breakfast adventure went smoothly, if a bit oddly. We ordered our food and ate as we drove, which made the food swapping exercise more challenging than it needed to be. Far traded his egg for Nagi's sausage patty, while I appropriated the kid's butter and syrup. I'd ordered the pancake-and-sausage sandwich with built-in syrup pockets, but the damn thing was dry as hell.

By the time I finished slathering butter on it and dipping it in the syrup, I needed two towellettes to clean up but it had been quite worth the effort.

Nagi seemed pleased enough with his breakfast as well, though he had eaten around the portion of one pancake that bore the imprint of a sausage patty. That part he gave to Farfarello, who took it with a "thank you".

For the next couple of hours we drove in silence, each man praying in his own way that the air conditioner not die just yet. Though it was only mid-morning, late summer heat beat down on us like unrefreshing rain. This did not bode well for the rest of the day.

Around noon we left the highway, guided by a friendly-looking sign that read "Welcome to Springfield".

Traffic picked up a little, all heading toward what looked like a large indoor sports arena. Brad followed the herd into a vast parking lot. ::Schuldig, I hope you're well rested,:: he stated without a trace of humor.

::What do you have in mind?::

::Did you read that flyer?::

::Not really, no,:: I confessed, glaring at my bandaged finger. ::They sell guns and knives, right?::

::They buy and trade guns, too.:: Brad adjusted his glasses; they caught the sunlight with a flash. ::Can you imagine the number of people handling these items?::

Comprehension dawned, and I grinned.

Crawford got out of the car and led the way toward the building. ::Each of you, I want you to touch as many weapons as you can get your hands on. When showing your guns, don't take the first offer, or the second. Be picky. Make sure a number of different people handle your weapons, then return to whichever vendor carries the same make and model as your own. Schuldig will take care of the messier details. Ready, gentlemen?::

We queued up behind a dozen people heading into the arena. I could see two armed policemen standing at the door. ::Brad, I don't like this.::

::Steady, all.:: Brad touched my arm for emphasis. ::They need to verify that all guns brought in to this show are unloaded, and that our permits are in order. That's where you come in, Schuldig. Look at the thoughts of the people ahead of us, and the police themselves. Find out what they expect to see, then show it to them as we reach their position.::

I took a deep breath and braced myself, then surveyed the minds around us. I had to go slowly, cautiously, in case there were any psi-surprises waiting for me; there were none. Through the eyes of one man I saw exactly what the appropriate concealed-carry permit would look like, and through another I found a buyer's permit.

The people ahead of us parted into three lines, two for those with guns and one for those without. Far headed for the shortest line, then vanished into the building. If there were any trouble, he'd get what he needed and meet up with us later. I nudged the people behind us so it wouldn't look odd that Brad, Nagi, and I went through the same line. It would be best if I could work on one mind only, less chance for something going wrong.

Brad greeted the policeman like an old fishing buddy and offered his gun butt-first. Then he took out his wallet and pulled out a card, handing it to the officer with a smile. Holding fast to the cop's mind, I showed him what I wanted him to see: a valid permit to carry a concealed weapon. The cop smiled and nodded, gave Brad back his gun. Brad paid his five dollar admission fee and strolled inside.

My rite of passage went more smoothly than it had any right to, considering that I didn't even have a bogus card to offer.

As the officer checked Nagi's pistol, I saw an unexpected complication in his thoughts. _The kid just looks too damn young..._ A soft mental tweak took care of that, and the cop smiled and wished Nagi a pleasant day at the expo.

Once we were inside, I let out the breath I'd been holding. The headache started to creep up on me, and I looked around for a place to sit. As I looked, I realized that I didn't see Far anywhere.

"Y'awright?" Brad drawled as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "Too damn hot in here, that's fer sure!"

I nodded, worried for a moment that my head would just fall off and roll across the floor.

Brad gently squeezed my shoulder. His eyes told me more than he could safely say.

Nagi excused himself for a moment. He returned with a bottle of soda, a packet of headache pills, and an oversized hot pretzel. Nagi shrugged as he handed me the items in significant order. "I thought it might help."

I couldn't tell which made me happier, the medicine or the caffeine, or just the thoughtfulness of the act. "Thanks, kiddo."

Someone nearby mumbled about needing to fix the air conditioner before anyone else passed out from heat stroke. At least no one would associate my condition with the police at the door.

Brad wandered along the aisle, staying within view while I composed myself. A few minutes later, Nagi and I strolled down the aisle in his wake, admiring the steelworks and pausing to handle a few guns as we went.

I'd never seen anything quite like this place, and I knew Nagi hadn't, either. The vast, open-span building housed row upon row of long tables, the kind that fold up for storage. Here and there, glass display cases replaced the tables, gleaming dully in the uneven light.

All around us milled men and the occasional woman, all intent on satisfying whatever weapons fetish they happened to have. Some sought out the newest pistols, while others surveyed the hunting rifles. Elsewhere, vendors displayed an assortment of bows and arrows, ninja-style weapons, and pieces of body armor.

I found myself smiling as I browsed. It occurred to me that we were in one of the safest places in the whole world at that very moment. No operative would be foolish enough to try something in the midst of a hundred likely members of the NRA! Few things were as predictably dangerous as an armed American, and there were too many here for even a highly-skilled telepath to affect as a group.

I nearly bumped into a man at the next booth, then realized it was Brad. He was studying the contents of a tidy glass case, his expression intent. Curious, I looked down.

Arranged on black velvet with asymmetric care, an assortment of antiques waited patiently within the case. Brad stood to my left, and whatever held his attention was in fairly slim company. There were a few pistols, some medals, cigarette lighters and other odds and ends. The right-hand side of the case held more flashy fare: sleek pistols, dark medals, and a cap and three daggers marked with the swastika.

Memories flew through my head – a faded photograph, a heavy iron medal, the smell of old wool – and gone again, as if they had never been. The headache flared and receded, cheated of its prey as my mind refused to play along with it.

Brad handed the vendor some cash, and accepted a small parcel in return. Slipping the item into his pocket, Brad turned and looked at me with an odd misty expression. When he spoke, his "local boy" accent sounded too sincere to ever have been faked. "C'mon, let's not be all day about it."

I wanted to ask him what he'd bought, but something about the transaction led me to believe he wouldn't want to tell me. Not here, not now.

Nagi fell into step behind us as we made our way around the tables. Brad and I asked several vendors for appraisals on our guns; I had to show them serial numbers that didn't appear anywhere on the weapons. That part had almost gotten past me; when I saw the confusion in the first buyer's mind, I quickly fixed the problem, earning another few minutes of pain for my effort.

After we had seen damn near every gun in the place – and handled at least a third of them – Brad led us back to one of the vendors who dealt in Berettas. In moments Nagi had a new weapon, while his old one was packed away with the surplus. Until the suggestion wore off, the vendor would keep that gun away from customers, and the secret of its non-existent serial number would not come to light. And when the secret did come to light, there was a very real possibility that the new owner would end up discarding that gun somewhere rather than risk losing his business and going to jail for trafficking in stolen goods.

Either way, Schwarz won.

I repeated the transaction three more times, resting just enough in between that I could guarantee a few days lag time for the suggestion. By the time we were done, I felt raw and wrung out, and badly in need of a cigarette.

"Jus' two more things to do, then lunchtime," Brad told me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "An' there's one of 'em now. You take care o' that, I'll be right back."

Ahead of us stood Farfarello, at a knife seller's booth. The Irishman had pushed his dark glasses up, revealing the single golden eye and the puckered socket where its mate had once been. He held a knife up close to his good eye, studying it like an archaeologist with a new find. He sighted down its length, then turned it over and repeated his scrutiny.

Far tested the balance of the knife, resting it across his fingertips. Then, fast as thought he whirled and flung it at the wall twenty feet away, burying the blade hilt-deep in the targeted four-inch-wide support strut. He retrieved the knife, studying it intently as he returned to the booth whereupon he nodded, replaced his glasses, and said, "It'll do."

Nagi and I glanced at each other, then approached cautiously as Far concluded his transaction. By the look of things, he'd been busy. He had two parcels already, and added a bag carrying half a dozen throwing knives to the lot. As I came up beside him, the Irishman turned with a smile. "Done shopping?"

"As soon as…Frank gets back," I replied, nearly forgetting Brad's borrowed name. "You?"

Far nodded. "I'm good."

Brad ambled toward us, carrying two rifle cases and grinning widely. "Y'all ready?"

"More than ready," I murmured, wanting only to sit and molest a cigarette for a while.

When the afternoon heat slammed into me like a brick wall, I staggered a step and amended my goal: I still wanted that smoke, but more than that I wanted something cold to drink. I felt like my muscles were melting. Asphalt-scented air clung to the ground in an obscene mockery of fog. Nasty damn weather…

The air inside the car was even hotter, the tobacco smell rising and making me queasy. Maybe some real tobacco would exorcise it; I chanced Brad's veto and pulled out my smokes. Then I paused, and grudgingly asked, "Hey, that flea shit isn't flammable, is it?"

Brad smiled and murmured, "No, that's jes th' smell lingerin'. Go ahead, y'know y'wan' to."

::You going to keep talking like that?:: I asked him, not intending to blow his cover if it were still necessary but unable to listen to it anymore without reacting if it weren't. ::It's a little unnerving.::

::I might.::

I sighed as best I could and lit up. It did seem to banish the chemical smell, though Nagi glared at me over a wrinkled nose. Since the car was too hot for the air conditioner to kick in just yet, we kept the windows down, so I didn't feel much remorse over my habit.

Before I got halfway done with my smoke, a tickle in my chest dared me to even think about taking another drag. I let out a stiff cough, then another. In desperation I opened a bottled water; the liquid tasted like hot plastic. "Damn it!" I gasped. "Any chance for a cold drink, here?"

Brad sighed and aimed for a convenience store. Before I could reach for my door, Brad said, "No, Schu. Let Far do it." Mercifully, he sounded like the Brad Crawford I knew again. "Farfarello, see if they have ice chests. If they do, stock us up." To me he stated, "Did you forget? You're still armed. Convenience store clerks get very nervous about guns, and everything's on camera."

I snuffed out my cigarette and left it in the ashtray. My chest still felt trembly, as though it wanted to have another round of choking for its own entertainment. That lingering-cough sensation annoyed me no end. Then again, that's what I got for sucking on hot smoke on a fucking hot day in an overly-hot car. I scrounged up some more headache pills and debated taking them with the nasty warm water, then decided to wait the extra minute for something worth drinking. Leaning back in my seat, I sighed and watched my teammate make his purchases and head back to the parking lot.

Far carried a large white styrofoam box, and he looked quite pleased with himself. He set the box on the backseat and said, "Be right back, need the ice." Nagi took two bottles out of the box and handed them up to the front seat. I opened mine with a grateful sigh and washed down the migraine medicine without even tasting the drink. Far strode up to the silver bin next to the building and pulled out two bags of ice, then waved through the window at the clerk before returning to the car. Far opened the bags of ice and dumped them into the cooler, then Nagi arranged the remaining bottles and replaced the lid.

"Ready?" Brad asked, setting his drink in the holder on his door. He didn't wait for an answer.

I tried to relax and encourage the headache to fade quickly. My sunglasses were barely keeping things dim enough; I flung an arm across my eyes and tried to melt into the seat.

A rough, smelly object landed on my face, blocking the sunlight but startling me awake in the process. My nose was nearly touching the inside band of Far's recycled cowboy hat, and it was not a pleasant thing. Still, it did block the light, and at the moment my head could more easily forgive my nose than my eyes, so I waved a half-hearted thank-you and settled myself for a nap.

When I blinked myself awake, the car was cloaked in darkness; Nagi and Far were sleeping soundly in the back seat. Beside me, Brad maintained as steady a course as the captain of a phantom ship.

"Where are we?" I murmured, setting Far's hat on the dashboard and reaching for a drink.

"Nowhere important," Brad whispered, unwittingly reinforcing my image of him as some grim revenant guiding a ship out of hell. "Are you rested?"

"Fairly, why?"

Instead of answering, Brad pulled the car to the shoulder of the highway and parked, leaving the engine running. "Take a turn," he said, getting out of the car and coming around to my door. I slid over, he got in, and I put the car in drive. "Just keep on this road. Don't take any exits unless there's trouble. Oh, and watch out for animals."

"Like what, bears?" I laughed, adjusting the mirrors.

"Deer, coons," he said as he tossed Far's hat into the back seat. "Skunks."

"Skunks?" I growled. "Lovely."

Brad smiled and settled down to sleep.

As I drove, I noticed two things. One, there was almost no traffic, and the night wasn't bright enough for anyone to go about without headlights; I would see any pursuit or interceptors miles away. And two, there was no mental traffic, either. Compared to Japan, or nearly every other place we'd been recently, this stretch of highway was…empty. True, with Brad Crawford nearby, there would be no intense pressure against my mind anyway, but this sense of quiet seemed almost profound.

I smiled as I drove, watching for four-legged obstacles and the occasional shooting star. The highway unfolded, spooling like ribbon across a sleeping world.

Before sunrise the next morning, I was convinced we were utterly lost.

"Perfect," Brad whispered, looking around as I refueled the car. He directed me to a military surplus store, then told Far and Nagi to wait in the car while we went inside.

At the counter, a grim-faced man watched television on one of those tiny camping sets. He looked up, offered Brad a warm smile. "Frank! It's been a while!"

Brad looked around almost furtively, told me to go get some camping gear, then went toward the counter. I took a shopping cart, as I had the feeling this was going to be serious. ::Brad? Mind if I listen in?:: His shields didn't block me out, so I eavesdropped on his conversation while trying to figure out what he wanted me to shop for. The images from Brad's point of view superimposed on the shelves in front of me, and I had to concentrate to keep it all straight.

"Hey, Burke." Brad fidgeted, wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. He looked around, taking note of the store security mirrors and locating the other three shoppers, including me. "No time to chat. Jes need a few things. Gonna be roughin' it for a while."

Realization dawned on the clerk's ruddy face. The man leaned over the counter and whispered, "Holy shit, you did it, didn't you?"

Brad's heart rate sped up and his voice rose in pitch, cracking a little in a rush of emotion. "What was I s'ppose to do, Burke? I love my son! There's no way that cheatin' bitch is takin' him away from me!"

I had to take a breath and pull back from the connection a little, before Brad dragged me in too deep. Damn, but he was a good actor! Then again, it didn't take much acting to go from being persecuted by Esset to warring with an ex-wife: either way, if you weren't careful you could lose everything you held dear, though ex-wives usually didn't take the final step of execution.

"Whoa, I'm with you, man," Burke said. "You need any help, just ask."

"All we need is a little _time_," Brad hissed. "That's all, just _time_. Time away from her lawyers and her family's money and all that. I just don't want him to hate me, and I know that's what she'll do."

Again I saw the scene through Brad's eyes, though this time I kept things purposely shallow. Sight and sound only, thank you; Brad could keep the rest of his method acting to himself.

Burke frowned, then palmed something and passed it across the counter. "You remember where the place is?"

Brad put his hand over the item – _a key_ – and pushed it back toward Burke. "You don't have to do this, Burke. I just want some supplies, don't get involved."

"I lost my two kids in a custody fight six years ago. I'm already involved."

I'd found a camping stove and some cookware, blankets, tents, and generally more crap than I could cram into the shopping cart. I let my psychic eavesdropping trail off and returned to the front counter with everything but the tents.

"Great, Jack, thanks," Brad said in a distracted tone. To Burke he asked, "How much for two decent-sized tents?" He started counting out cash.

"Just use the damn cabin," Burke said. "Anything inside is yours, just put back what you can. And help the next guy along the road, once your own trials are over."

Brad smiled. "Thank you, Burke. God bless." ::Schuldig, give him the suggestion to send one of his hunting buddies to tell me if anyone comes poking around asking questions.::

I did, weaving the command with gentle ease. Burke had been half inclined to do this anyway; the suggestion wasn't difficult to enforce.

Then we were back on the road, the trunk of the car full of camping gear.

"Do I even want to know where we're going now?" I asked, glancing at Brad.

Brad turned the steering wheel and aimed away from the main highway. "No, Schuldig, you probably don't."

**A/N:**

_Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys,  
'Cos they'll never stay home and they're always alone  
Even with someone they love._

Yee-haw – that was from "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys" from the _Ultimate Waylon Jennings_ album. I figure, if Schu is at all like me, he'll get some obnoxious song stuck in his head if he hears it on the radio – and, unlike me, for Schuldig every human mind is like a radio. That'll teach him to go to a gun and knife show in the American heartland without his CD player.

I must confess, I'm a McDonald's McGriddles fan. (I blame that on the newspaper route my partner and I do from time to time. Sometimes you end up so damn hungry you'll try anything…) They're basically a sausage sandwich made with bun-shaped pancakes instead of a biscuit. The pancakes have these little syrup pockets, and the whole thing is atrociously nasty. But add a little butter and some real syrup, and you have yourself a breakfast masterpiece.

NRA – National Rifle Association of America. The "you can have my gun when you pry it from my cold dead fingers" guys.


	75. 75

**75**

_There I was back in the wild again…_

Michigan. Land of automobiles, survivalists, and mosquitoes the size of small aircraft.

I kicked rocks out of my way as I walked up the path to our newest home, a tiny cabin hidden away in the vast northern woods. We were as isolated from the outside world as possible without being genuinely lost. No phone, no running water, electricity courtesy of a gas powered generator.

Brad had obviously been here before. He knew with clarity beyond any visions where to find the camping gear, the folding cots, the toilet paper, and the hunting targets. Then again, there weren't many places those things could have been stashed in the first place, as the cabin itself had only two real rooms and a microscopic bathroom.

I began to think that it would be better to just sleep in the damn car.

While I surveyed the cabin for spiders and other vermin, Brad unpacked the hunting targets and began hauling them into the clearing. Farfarello helped him, leaving Nagi to join me in mutual gloom.

"I hate this place," Nagi grumbled, sending out a tendril of his power to dislodge an ancient cobweb and several mummified cocoons.

I tried to make myself feel better about the situation by reminding him we'd stayed in worse places. But even as I said this, spider webs brushed across my face, and I jumped backwards with a curse.

"See?" Nagi retorted with typical monosyllabic eloquence.

I glared. "You can gloat, or you can help."

"I am helping," he stated, reaching with intangible hands to pull down the highest webs, letting them drift in gray-white tangles to the floor. One lacy filament aimed for Brad's cot; rather than catch the cobweb, Nagi lifted the cot out of the way, testing himself. The kid winced, fingertips pressing at his temples and eyes tight shut. "Damn it."

I put my arm around his shoulders and held him for a moment, the way I had when he was a child in my care. "Come on, let's sit down."

"But I'm not done yet."

"For now, you are." I guided him toward his cot, which we had already declared bug-free, and made him sit. "Don't overreach like that. Solids are harder than electricity, even if it's something small. Build up to it, okay?"

Brad returned to the cabin and peeled off his shirt, then grabbed one of our stolen hotel towels and dried off the sweat that clung to his chest hairs like dew on a spider's web. He paused and gave me a quizzical look; I must have projected that last part, and could only offer a shrug and a smile in my own defense. Brad Crawford is the kind of man who looks fantastic in sweat; I'm the kind of man who notices such things.

Instead of a glare or a scowl, Brad just smiled slightly and threw the towel at my head. "I want you two out there and shooting at deer until dinnertime."

"Deer?" Nagi blurted, looking highly dismayed.

Brad and I savored the kid's reaction; we both knew that Nagi hadn't seen the targets yet. "They're hunting targets, shaped like deer," Brad explained. "More useful to us than a bull's-eye. True, our enemies don't have antlers, but the location of the heart relative to the shoulder is similar enough, and an eye shot won't be all that different on a human. Have at, and be sure to switch hands once in a while."

Nagi followed me at a trudge as I made my way around the back of the cabin. Farfarello had staked out his own target: he'd embedded two knives in a tree, and proceeded to throw four others into the narrow patch between them in less than three seconds.

I loaded my gun, forgetting for a moment that this was not, in fact, my Rosenkreuz-issued sidearm. The clip felt different as I slid it home – stiffer, not so well-used – and I remembered that this gun hadn't been broken in yet. "How's yours, kiddo? Mine's a little stiff." I realized how that sounded about the same time Nagi did. "A little temperamental," I amended hastily.

"It's a gun, Schuldig. Guns don't have tempers."

"No," Far chimed in, "people with stiffies have tempers."

"Smartass." I took aim at the middle of a plastic deer and fired. It had been so long since I'd discharged a firearm that the noise of it made me blink; either that, or listening to so much weird music had damaged my hearing. From what I could see, the shot had gone high and a little to the left. Since my aim was off too, I blamed it on being rusty.

Nagi fired off three shots in rapid succession, his own gun barking in a softer register but still echoing sharply off the trees. A neat triangle of holes framed the target's left eye, while a fine sheen of sweat sprang out on Nagi's forehead. He took another shot at his deer; the left hind leg split at the knee and the target sagged downward at the rear. Nagi lowered his gun and focused on the broken target. The three-legged deer tipped forward, hooves sinking slightly into the ground until the target anchored itself to the spot, standing firm in spite of the missing limb.

Nagi sighed and wiped his brow. I could tell he'd pushed too much, and I knew I couldn't say anything about it. He'd only take it as nagging. Instead, I told him, "Nice work, kid."

"Thank you." His voice sounded thin with pain.

After wasting a few more rounds, I switched to my left hand and tried for a head shot. One plastic antler shattered and spun away into the woods.

"Here, let me have a go," Far said, reaching for my pistol.

I gave it to him and stepped back to lean against a tree.

Farfarello sighted and fired at Nagi's target, doing about as badly as I had with my first shot today. He frowned and studied the gun closely, then tried again. This time the bullet landed in the middle of Nagi's triangle, wrecking what was left of the plastic eye. Far nodded to himself and handed the gun back, saying, "It pulls to the left. Not sure why, but I think I've got its measure."

"Thanks, Far, I was just getting a feel for that myself."

"Do you want to try mine?" Nagi asked, offering the Irishman his weapon.

"Want to trade?" Far asked, gesturing at the knives protruding from the tree.

"No, thanks."

Far took Nagi's gun, and I handed the kid mine. "Better know them both, chibi."

"Pulls to the left, you said?" Nagi concentrated, seemingly weighing the pistol with his power; the gun hovered over his hand, then settled into his palm. The kid's face looked pale and moist as he gave the gun back to me. "Here, I don't want to use it. I may have fixed it, I can't tell."

"Chibi, fucking with a loaded gun is not the smartest thing you could do," I snarled, worry rushing up well after the fact. "And pushing when you're already strained is beyond stupid!"

"What difference does it make?" Nagi shouted, his face contorted with pain and fury. "You know I don't detonate charges! If I can't control my power enough to be trusted with a gun, how am I ever going to get it working again?"

The leaves rattled on the trees around us, buzzing in wasp-like agitation as a gust of wind swept through our practice area. A spattering of rain followed in its wake, though from the noise in the woods around us I had the feeling we were about to get drenched. "Ah, hell, rain delay!" I shouted over the rising wind. "Son of a bitch!"

"And we were having so much fun, too," Far muttered as he sprinted to retrieve his knives.

Nagi reholstered his gun and turned toward the cabin in silence.

Brad sat on the shallow porch, tending our new camping stove. He looked up as we approached. "Schuldig, you're looking more colorful than usual. How did it go?"

I tried to remove the leaves from my hair, failed miserably. "Went fantastic, didn't you hear? There's a fucking storm coming!"

Brad frowned. "That's strange. The weather was supposed to hold for at least the next three days."

"Don't know what to tell you, Willard –" I glanced back at the trees – "except maybe we should get indoors."

But even as I spoke, the storm dissipated into a brief windy shower that sent another batch of leaves into my hair before blowing itself out. "Ah, hell!" I bitched, pawing at the offending bits of nature.

Far smirked and clapped me on the shoulder. "You think that's annoying, wait till you see your back."

"What! What's on my back?" Imagining all sorts of multi-legged things, I tried to crane around to see, tugging at my shirt and nearly strangling myself in the process. An uneven glistening stripe puckered the fabric from my right shoulder down to the waistline; my jeans sported a matching patch on the right rear pocket. I touched a cautious fingertip to the stuff: sticky as hell, and it smelled like pine. Growling at the rudeness of Mother Nature, I struggled to get out of my soiled clothes without getting any of the sap on my skin.

Brad served up dinner without comment.

A/N: 

_There I was back in the wild again…_

When you're roughing it in Michigan, you need some Ted Nugent to get you through the day. Can't get much more classic than "Fred Bear" from _Spirit Of The Wild_. Of course, Schuldig is probably being more sarcastic than reverent, but that's just him.

"_It's a gun, Schuldig. Guns don't have tempers." "No," Far chimed in, "people with stiffies have tempers."_ – This commentary is a spoof on the NRA slogan "Guns don't kill people – people kill people". Hope those people don't know where I live…

"_Don't know what to tell you, Willard –" I glanced back at the trees – "except maybe we should get indoors."_ – Willard Scott is a near-legendary weatherman appearing on America's "Today" show (an early morning news and entertainment program).


	76. 76

**76**

…_and I feel fine…_

Sometimes insomnia is a relief. The inability to nod off is better than those brief, terror-filled dreams that jolt you awake before the body gets any benefit from sleeping.

The nightmares faded quickly, too quickly; their sudden absence fooled me into trying again, and falling into yet another dark corner of my weary psyche.

Now I lay awake and stared at the ceiling, my clothing and bedding soaked with sweat. I wanted a cigarette. Though I'd promised Brad more than once that I'd quit, something always came up to test my resolve, and I'd never claimed to have a lot of that. Tonight, the only thing slowing me down in my quest for a fix was Brad's prohibition against smoking inside the cabin, combined with Farfarello's observation that we seemed to have bats. Real, furry, squeaking, dive-bombing bats. And bats freak me right the hell out.

The craving got the better of me, as it usually did. Bats or no, I needed that cigarette. Trying not to wake the others, I crept through the cabin and out the front door, stopping only for shoes and smokes.

I paused on the porch and lit up, savoring the head-clearing nicotine.

"Can't sleep?" Brad's whisper carried through the hush. He lounged on the hood of the car, his back against the windshield. He held something small between both hands, raising it high above his face as though trying to cast its shadow from starlight. With his right hand he fiddled with something on its side, and I realized he was winding a watch.

I shook my head and strolled toward the car. "Not a damn bit. You?"

"No." He lowered his hands and looked up at the stars.

I leaned against the fender, aiming my smoke away from Brad. "New watch?"

Brad smiled wistfully. "Old one. I've always liked antiques."

"Liar."

Brad chuckled but did not reply.

In the silence I half-heartedly listened for bats, though I was beginning to think Far had been pulling my leg on that one.

"How did Nagi do today?"

"He did all right," I replied. "He's getting more control over his gift, though anything bigger than a cobweb still hurts him. Damn fine marksman, though fuck if I can tell if he's cheating."

"Your weapons working out all right?"

"Mine pulls like a bitch, but I'll deal." Somehow this conversation felt surreal, as if neither of us were really participating in it. I wondered for a moment if I were still asleep.

Brad sighed and raised the watch again, though I knew from the lighting that he could barely see the face. His voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, "Did you know that we're within a day's drive of my hometown?"

I looked at him, surprised at his candor. "I didn't know that."

"It's true." He closed his eyes, shutting out the watch and the world with it. "A double handful of hours south and east. And I can never go there again."

I started to say something, closed my mouth again. I knew as well as Brad did why he couldn't go back. He'd kill himself, and his team, before allowing Esset to harm his family. Not for the first time I wondered if he'd kept tabs on them, knew whether they were all right or not. Then I realized, he couldn't possibly afford to. "God, Brad. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There's not a single soul at Rosenkreuz who isn't an orphan."

"Yeah." I looked up at the stars, the only things I would allow to make me feel small anymore, and for a moment I felt like a child again, staring into the heart of the infinite. Had I chased rainbows, wished on falling stars as a boy? My throat tightened. "I don't remember a damn thing before Rosenkreuz. Well, nothing that makes any sense, anyway. Bastards didn't even leave me a name, I had to come up with this one all on my own."

"They took everything but mine," Brad murmured, his eyes narrowing in memory.

I took a drag on my cigarette, then, with a grand gesture, I offered it to Brad.

He looked at me as if I'd sprouted antennae. "You know I never touch those things."

"I know."

Brad reached up and touched my shoulder. "But thanks for the sentiment."

I smiled and ran a hand through my sweat-damp hair. "Anytime. So, is it really Bradley, or just Brad? Bradford? Bradmont?"

He laughed and waved a hand to stop me from invoking anything worse. "Yes, it really is Bradley, Schuldig."

"Do you have a middle name or anything?"

He opened his mouth to reply when a soft crash sounded from inside the cabin. Brad leaped from the car and dashed to the porch, pocketing the watch somewhere along the way; I buried my cigarette with a quick kick and ran after him.

Inside, Nagi stood frozen in the corner behind his overturned cot. Farfarello loomed over him like a revenant.

"Stand down!" Brad commanded, snatching up his hunting rifle from beside the door and taking aim at the Irishman's head.

Far graced him with a condescending smirk and whispered, "Ah, the nonbeliever comes to join our debate. Tell me, Crawford, are ye not the bringer of war?"

"If you do not back away from Nagi forthwith, I most certainly shall be. Now move!"

"You see?" Far murmured to the boy. "In time, ye shall all know as I know." He stepped back, and I realized he'd been standing on the cot supports, using Nagi's own bed to trap him in the corner. He didn't have any knives visible, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Though freed, Nagi didn't move.

"Stand over there, by the other wall," Brad instructed the Irishman. "Schuldig, get the tranquilizer."

"What are you afraid of?" Farfarello whispered. "The boy can't die. None of us can die."

My hands shook as I unpacked a syringe and turned toward our mad teammate.

Brad's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, we can't die? Explain."

Farfarello smiled beatifically and shook his head. "You don't believe. You'll just think I'm crazy."

"You _are_ crazy. I want to know what you're talking about, and why you threatened a team member."

"I never threatened him!" Far cried, his face a mask of misjudged anguish. "I tried to tell him, so he wouldn't be afraid anymore. We have work to do, we cannot die. Even when our work is done, we are not bound by mortal chains. Don't you see?" He turned toward me, stopping me flat in my tracks with the glare of accusation in his eye. "Pretty, you of all people should understand."

"I might," I told him, "if you'd clue me in, Far. You've lost me at the moment."

"I was wrong," Farfarello confessed, "but I've figured it out now. It took me a while to put all the pieces together. When Nagi refused to eat, everything snapped into place. Everything came clear."

"Still lost, my friend. Help me out, here. What snapped into place?"

"Famine," the madman whispered. "Death. Disease. And War. I'm not the heart of the apocalypse, I am one of its heralds. We all are."

I cleared my throat, risked a glance back at Brad. He still held that rifle, steady as the madman's conviction. If I couldn't get the situation under control, we were about to become a three-man team. "Far, will you let me give you your medicine?"

"Maybe you should take it," he suggested. "Might help you sleep."

"No thanks. Makes me queasy." I risked a step closer, then two.

Far held out his arm and allowed me to inject him, his expression all the while one of saintly patience. As I slid the needle out of his skin, he smiled and said, "You'll see, Pretty. You'll understand soon enough."

Brad sidled closer to Nagi, bent slightly to pick up the kid's gun and hold it out to him. "Nagi, cover Farfarello so I can help get him into bed."

Nagi didn't move.

"Nagi?"

Nothing.

::It's all right, Brad. I've got this.:: I guided Far back to his cot. Once he was settled, I collected my gear and left the madman to his dreams.

Brad set about barricading the bedroom door while I checked on our youngest teammate.

Nagi remained flat against the wall, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"Hey, chibi, you okay?"

No reaction. I could barely even tell if he was breathing.

"Nagi, snap out of it!" I gripped his shoulders and shook gently. He flopped like a rag doll in my hands. "Did he hurt you?"

Nagi gasped and flailed with his fists, seeming for all the world like a terrified eight-year-old waking from a nightmare.

I gathered him into my arms, holding him tight against my chest. "Shh, shh, it's over. You're safe, I'm here." It was just like that other time, except now there was no blood. I patted him down to make certain of that fact. There were no wounds or even scratches, only the one old scar on his back, the reminder that Farfarello was to Nagi as the hunting snake is to the bird.

"Why?" Nagi hissed through clenched teeth. "Why do I always freeze around him?" He stared at me as though demanding an answer.

"I wish I knew, kid. I wish I knew."

Brad joined us, setting his hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "What happened, Nagi?

"I woke up. Farfarello was sitting right next to my bed," Nagi whispered. "He asked me if I understood the portents. He said that the hunters wanted us not because of what we've done but because of what we are." Nagi looked into Brad's eyes as if willing him to understand, and said, "'When you catch the horsemen, you control the fate of the world.' That's what he told me. And when I tried to get up, to go get Schuldig, Farfarello tipped my cot over and blocked my way."

"Why didn't you use the team link?" Brad asked, though we all knew the answer already.

"I didn't think," Nagi whispered, eyes lowered. "I _couldn't_ think. It's always the same, he's right there in my face before I can get away, and then it's too late."

"We're moving out to the car for a while," Brad stated. "Bring whatever you can carry. We may have to leave on short notice." He didn't say what I knew he was thinking: _we may have to leave Farfarello._

I stood there holding Nagi for a few more moments, until the kid pulled away on his own. Then I simply stood there, missing his warmth.

Brad touched my elbow and whispered, "We need to talk."

We hauled our gear out to the car and got Nagi settled into the back seat. I didn't think he'd sleep much, but at least there was some barrier between him and the Irishman.

Brad gestured for me to follow him. I noticed that he now wore his pistol at his hip. He strode around the cabin, toward the area we'd been using for target practice. He took a deep breath as though about to speak. But rather than say anything, Brad reached down, picked up a rock, and pitched it into a nearby tree.

A frantic clatter preceded the cloud of bats startled from their hiding place.

I ducked, arms wrapping over my head and profanities dripping from my lips.

Brad watched the bats fly away, then murmured, "Sometimes, Farfarello isn't wrong."

I straightened and glared at him, caught between the moment and the meaning. "What the fuck?"

Strong hands gripped my arms, and I found myself caught in the gaze of the Oracle. "He isn't wrong, Schuldig. Not in any meaningful sense of the term."

"Nagi hates horses," I blurted, my mind trying to get around this whole apocalypse thing by the shortest possible route. "Besides, the world's been on the brink of destruction since before man invented the printing press. What makes this time any different?"

"I'm not talking religion, Schu," Brad whispered. "We are the heralds of the end of Esset's world, though from what I've Seen, we may not be the actual instruments of it."

I swallowed; dread burned the moisture from my throat. "Anything you can elaborate on?" I croaked.

Brad shook his head. "How I wish I could." He stared at my face for a long moment. "We need to pull the team together again. After tonight, I'm not sure how that will shape up. Nagi barely has a usable gift, and Farfarello has just tipped over into a dangerous phase. No matter what happens, those who hunt must never know. The moment they figure out just how weakened we are, it's all over."

"Well, Nagi's made friends with his gun, at any rate," I offered, "and when Far's bad off, all we have to do is figure out which direction to aim him and stand back from the mess. We're not that weak, really. Especially considering where we've come from. Besides, it's been over a year! You already said this was a record – either our luck is about to run out, or Far _is_ right and we'll never die. I know what I'm betting on."

"You're as crazy as he is, you know that, right?" Brad laughed. He picked up another rock, considered it, then let it drop. "Ah, Schu…" He shook his head and started to turn away.

My hands reached out on their own, pulling him back toward me before gliding up his arms to rest on his shoulders. His eyes looked black in the dim light; I leaned in close enough to see the patterns of smoky amber among the steady brown. My soul breathed in the essence of him as my lips touched his.

Brad seemed to melt, allowing me to hold him up for one brief instant before reasserting his dominance and leaning into the kiss. His hands came up to frame my face as he pulled back at last; his eyes shone with unshed tears. "Promise me something," he whispered, voice harsh. "Don't leave. No matter what comes, don't leave me."

I started to ask, but he rested his fingers against my lips. "You will want to go, very much," he rasped. "Don't. Just…don't. I need you, Schuldig. And I will need you for the rest of my life."

Change but one word, and that statement would have given my heart wings. As it stood, I could only nod and promise without understanding any more than that.

A/N: 

…_and I feel fine…_

"It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" from _No. 5 – Document_ by R.E.M. Dear God, what was I thinking? It's impossible to get a clean set of lyrics for this song! That's probably why it was once the #1 requested song on MTV's "Say What?", a sort of "what the HELL are the lyrics??" program from the early 90's. As said by the person introducing this particular music video, "I've heard R.E.M. doesn't even know all the words anymore." So, while the lyrics shall indeed appear on my website, they're as accurate as MTV made them, and, barring an official R.E.M. lyric sheet, that's my last word on the subject.

And, yes, we have bats in Michigan. They're the only thing able to catch those damn mosquitoes.


	77. 77

**77**

…_wie viel vom dem, was ich heute weiß, hätt ich lieber nie gesehen._

Over the next several days, I watched my team virtually tack-weld itself back together. We practiced with weapons and bare-handed, we sparred, we strengthened our team link. Nagi worked on his gift, Far managed his madness, and Brad showed no weakness whatsoever. Soon the team was nearly as combat-ready as we had been the day we'd left Prague.

Yet the very things that made us strong seemed determined to shake us apart.

Brad kept dropping into visions, some so powerful he needed help anchoring to the present for hours after. Though Farfarello had pretty much evened out, he kept flashing me that odd, knowing smile that made my skin crawl. And Nagi practiced with his power in spite of a steadily diminishing appetite. If the kid were merely finicky, I'd get into his head and force him to eat; in truth, the coarse camping rations made him genuinely ill. I finally got him to eat some canned fruit I found, but there wasn't much of it.

During this time, I gave up on breaking my addiction to nicotine and merely thanked the powers that be that I didn't have any worse habits to deal with.

Of course, now I had to face the very real possibility of running out of cigarettes. We'd already managed to run out of toilet paper, and Nagi's first introduction to the process using leaves had been a disaster. He blamed me for using up the last of paper, which I hadn't, and refused to speak to me for the rest of that day. His silence burned.

The weather seemed to mirror our moods, growing dark and thundery with alarming regularity as we each wrestled whatever demons we had left. This evening – mid-August by my best guess – the approaching sunset had been swallowed by storm clouds, the horizon murky as smoke.

I ground the remains of my third-to-last cigarette under my heel and went in search of enlightenment. Farfarello was busy, cleaning our laundry with well-water and soap flakes. Nagi slept in the back of the car, his usual spot since the madman's attack on him in the cabin.

Brad sat on the hood of the car again, staring at nothing.

"Hey," I called out, tossing an acorn at him.

He didn't even blink.

I leaned on the fender and stared at him. His eyes were focused somewhen else; all I could do was wait for him to get back.

It felt like hours, but it was probably only a couple of minutes before he took his glasses off and closed his eyes. "What is it, Schuldig?"

"It's the team second's duty to report any problems, right?"

Brad glared a moment, then stated, "I am not unfit, Schuldig. Just…preoccupied."

"I wasn't talking about you," I stated, earning myself a curious blink. "Staying here is hurting Nagi. The kid's a wreck: he can barely eat, and the more he uses his power the worse he gets. He's tearing himself up, and wearing himself out. We need to get back to civilization, at least for his sake. I think Far is stable enough to travel, and it might do you some good with those visions, too."

Brad said nothing, he just stared off at the building clouds, his eyes squinting a little against the glare.

I turned to leave. Brad stopped me with a hand on my arm. "Schuldig, I…"

"What is it?"

"You're right, the visions are getting out of hand. It's either mice, or the whole damned Esset army is breathing down our necks. And I can't tell the difference." He shook his head, gazed at the ground a moment, then said, "Gather the team, Schuldig."

While I hurried to fetch Farfarello, I could hear Brad opening the car door and waking Nagi. I helped Far carry the soggy clothes back to the cabin and hang them to dry before joining up with the others.

Brad and Nagi sat in the clearing behind the cabin, near the bat-tree. The boy watched Farfarello as he moved to take a seat across from him; I parked myself in between the two.

With all the solemnity of ritual, Brad unholstered his gun and began to disassemble it. "Gentlemen, we have reached a crisis." He spoke slowly, as though weighing each word against an unwritten and unfriendly future. He did not look at us as he spoke, but concentrated on cleaning each component of his firearm with delicate precision. "First, I would like to congratulate each of you. We've broken all known records for eluding Esset, and you have all shown outstanding loyalty to me. My thanks to you all. However, it is clear that your well-being, both mental and physical, has been stretched thin. This cannot be allowed to continue. We need to act decisively, and we need to act now, before we lose any more ground." He paused to inspect his handiwork before beginning to reassemble his pistol. "The question remains, what manner of action? I'm going to offer each of you three choices. Choose carefully, because this opportunity will never come your way again."

The three of us glanced at one another; I could feel mental whispers of confusion from Nagi and Farfarello. Brad's shields, however, showed nothing.

"We are in a good location here," Brad continued, gesturing toward the treeline, "a crossroads, if you will. To the north, wilderness, and the kind of people who seek it out. There are militia cells here, folks who build their lives around protecting citizens from their own government. Right or wrong, they are well-supplied, and I have never known them to be on Esset's radar. A man alone could lose himself in these woods, and most likely find shelter with those who would gladly hide him." With smooth, neat movements, Brad slid bullets into the magazine, setting each in place with a soft metallic click. "As your leader, I am giving each of you the chance to walk away from the team and not look back. Right now."

Nagi shifted and gave me another uncomfortable look. ::Schuldig, Crawford is scaring me. I don't like this.::

Brad looked up from his gun, regarded each of us in turn as he stated, "I, however, will be returning to Europe to take care of some old business, with or without the team. It will be easier with your help, but I will not ask it of you. You must know that, should you choose to accompany me, I will continue to demand your unquestioning trust and your absolute loyalty, though I cannot guarantee your survival."

In the gravid silence that followed, I cleared my throat and asked, "You said three choices. What's the third?"

Brad slid the clip home and aimed the gun at my forehead. "Be certain."

**  
End Book Two – "Coming Home"**

**Thank you, Good Readers, for staying with our heroes thus far. If, in your heart, you know which choices the men of Schwarz would make, and you are satisfied with that, then you may leave this story here and write your own ending.**

**However…**

**If you have any doubt in the wisdom of their choices; or you believe that the answer is not quite as obvious as it seems; or you simply cannot bear to _not_ know what _really_ befell the four, read on.**

**How strong are the bonds of love, friendship, and loyalty among the men of Schwarz? What secrets does the Oracle guard to the exclusion of his team? What is Nagi's power becoming, and what is its cost? Find out the answers to these questions, and more, in upcoming volumes of "Coming Home".**

**A/N**

…_wie viel vom dem, was ich heute weiß, hätt ich lieber nie gesehen.  
(how much of that I know today, I had rather never seen.)_

There is an anime music video out there that hauntingly captures the fatalism of the Weiß Kreuz universe. It's set to Wolfsheim's "Kein Zurück", and I give a nod to it here – thank you, Kurayami, for making "Am Ende Deines Weges" and sharing it with the fandom. It is an amazing work of art.

This chapter's quote is for Brad, and for Schuldig's image of the man.

Stay, or leave? The question is posed, to Schwarz, and to you. The story will continue regardless. Unlike Brad Crawford, I'll let you change your mind.

If this is goodbye, then turn away in peace. I'm curious how you imagine things ending for our dark heroes.

But, if you stay, then hang onto your butts – the kiddie-ride portion of this story is now officially over.

GR


	78. 78

**78**

_without a noise, without my pride_

_I reach out from the inside_

I don't know what I was expecting, but the total lack of an Esset presence wasn't it. We made it from New York to London to Moscow without so much as a curious glance. For some reason, this didn't make me very comfortable.

But Brad took it in stride, as though he'd planned it this way. Which, of course, he had. The detour through Canada, the exit into New York state, all this served to create an ant trail that led nowhere. If Esset were indeed watching our every step, they should still be wandering around Canada, or possibly dredging Lake Erie by now.

Ten excruciatingly tense days to get from Michigan to England, with no sign of pursuit. And now, after a two-day pause in London, I found myself in Russia for the first time in my life. From the vantage point of a flight terminal café, it looked like any other place in the world.

I waited at the snack shop, vaguely browsing a tourist magazine and providing unneeded cover as the others made their way from the gate. The magazine was one of those airline books, written in several languages of which I could read three and filled with rather bland photographs and ads for bean pillows and collapsing suitcases. The thing was dated September/October 2002; hell, we wouldn't even be in this country long enough to explore any of it. With a snort I tossed the magazine back on the table and picked up my coffee cup.

That sense of being watched kicked in, and I cautiously looked around. A little kid was staring at me, seemingly fascinated by my bright and unruly hair. Since he was obviously not an Esset spy, I made a face at him.

He made a face back.

His mother hauled him over to her table with the kind of surly grumble that only an exasperated Brit can manage. "Roger! Stop bothering that man!"

I grinned. There was something refreshing about children.

"I saw that," came a familiar voice, tinged with a soft Irish accent. "Lost your dining companion so soon, did you?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid he had a prior engagement." ::Where are the others?::

::Men's room. When we see them round that corner, we're to head out.::

I sensed a small presence by my knee and looked down. The little kid, Roger, had returned. This time he didn't just stare at me, but also at my fierce-looking friend.

Far stared back.

"Are you a soldier?" Roger asked, pointing at Farfarello's scars. Then, with no warning the kid sneezed, in that inelegant way unique to children: open-mouthed, snot and spit flying everywhere.

I looked around. His mother had stepped up to the counter. I hoped she'd hurry and collect the little brat, as the last thing I wanted was a bunch of child germs.

Far just offered him a napkin.

As Roger blew his nose with great gusto, Far turned to me and said, "Do you know why you close your eyes when you sneeze? It's because the air rushes out of you with the force of a hurricane, and if you didn't close your eyes they'd pop right out."

"Disgusting." ::I see them. Let's go.::

But Farfarello paused, looking down at the impressionable child who absorbed his every word. With deliberate slowness he reached up and lifted his eyepatch. "It's true. I tried it once, and look what happened to me."

Roger goggled, his little mouth open and drooling.

Far replaced his eyepatch with great dignity before following me onto the concourse.

::That was sick, Far. Do I even need to tell you this?::

Farfarello chuckled. ::I think Roger may be a right storyteller. Can you imagine the looks on his friends' faces?::

::Unfortunately, I can.:: That wasn't all I could imagine; I only hoped that the kid's mother wouldn't report us to security.

Some distance back, I could sense Brad and Nagi falling into step with us. It felt strange, being at the vanguard like this. I took the position seriously, keeping close watch on the strangers all around us while listening carefully from behind my shields. Still no sign of Esset. I put on my sunglasses and headed for the door.

Moving with drill-team precision, we exited the terminal and appropriated a vehicle. They say that skilled car thieves can have their prize in under sixty seconds.

Schwarz did it in forty.

We stopped at a hotel near the border. Brad checked his watch, then arranged for a suite for three days.

I grinned at this news. "A real hotel, for three days? I don't know how to act!"

"Don't get too excited, Schuldig." Brad slung a bag over his shoulder and started toward our rooms. "Things have a way of changing."

Ignoring him, I asked, "They have a restaurant here?" I was thinking of Nagi; the kid had sort of wilted during our stay in the wild, and I wanted to get some decent food into him.

Brad pointed at the sign as we passed. We'd be eating like kings that night! Now if only they had something the chibi might like…

Once the four of us were fairly settled, Brad signaled for me to tighten the team link. ::We are not here by accident, gentlemen,:: he told us. ::I've been working on this plan for weeks now, bit by bit, and I believe it is solid.::

He had our attention, all right. ::Plan?:: I asked, wondering just what the man had in mind.

::We've been in evasion mode for too long. They're getting ready to get dirty, and I'm not going to just wait for it to happen. I intend to make a point this time, get their attention in a way that keeps the advantage squarely with us.:: He unpacked two maps and started unfolding them onto one of the beds. ::A dog can't see its fleas, but it certainly feels them. When it nips at the irritation, the flea is long gone. If we can get right in under Esset's nose, it will have a damn hard time finding us before we bite, and an even harder time after we have moved on again.::

::So, this is it,:: I observed. ::You're declaring war, for real this time.::

::Good,:: Nagi stated.

Far asked::Where do we start, then?::

Brad traced around Poland and Germany with the tip of his finger, coming to rest on the eastern border of Poland. ::We start here. Diplomat's Road.::

::Diplomat's Road?:: I asked. ::What is that? I've never heard of it.::

::I wouldn't expect you to,:: Brad told me with a small smile. ::Esset history, leader level. During World War II, Esset organized this bloc of Eastern Europe so that it could be ruled as a single country. This never happened, the war went the other way. But Esset had already put so much effort into consolidating this region that it was reluctant to just let it go.::

My throat felt dry. ::The Eastern Corridor.:: This would be like a spider knocking on the door to an anthill.

::That's part of it,:: Brad acknowledged. He pointed to the map, following the border between Germany and Poland and down toward Prague. ::The Eastern Corridor is here. Its original purpose was to expedite travel and shipments between the research posts in Denmark and the intelligence corps in Prague. Remember, this region was in the middle of chaos: roads and supply lines were compromised. Esset needed a secure means of travel for its own purposes, and this is where the Diplomat's Road comes in.::

::So, Crawford, is it an actual road?:: Nagi asked, glancing up from the map.

::It's a network of roads and the checkpoints along them, actually.:: He ran his finger around the region again. ::Everything within this area is considered part of Diplomat's Road. Think of it as a circle with an X in the middle, and every segment is heavily guarded. Crossing here, the Central Division connects Warsaw and Berlin. You can imagine how useful this was during the war.::

::I'm trying not to,:: I mind-whispered. Thoughts of war prisoners and experimentation turned my stomach.

::Though the world has changed since World War II,:: Brad went on::Esset really hasn't. It has only moved forward along the lines it was already on, rather than adapt to a brave new world not of its making. The outposts along these routes will still be active, and it is there we shall start.::

::What about south of it?:: Far asked. ::I notice it borders the sea to the north, but does the region stop at the mountains?::

::Officially, yes,:: Brad replied. ::There are some checkpoints in the Carpathians, but not many and they are easily avoided. If I understand the question behind the question, yes, Farfarello. If we have to retreat, we go into those mountains and on into Romania. Esset's hold on that country is flimsy, and there are many places to hide.::

::Why here?:: I asked, hoping he would intuit my real questions as well. I didn't want to seem skeptical of his plan, but I couldn't help it. Already he'd hinted at stinging them and running away after, already he had brought us close only to dance away before making any real impact. I couldn't understand his strategy, and what I didn't understand I tended to scoff at.

Brad regarded each of us in turn as though willing us to understand the gravity of his words. ::Because 'here' is the single largest concentration of Esset's holdings in the world. This region – Germany, the Eastern Corridor, and Poland – represents the heart of the organization. And it will guard that heart with no holds barred. I'm counting on it to do so.::

He began folding up the maps, but I stopped him. ::But why? What are you after?:: Tightening the link until it was just him and me, I said::We'll follow you, but I want to know why.::

Rather than glare at me or react in any way, Brad merely said::Open up the link, Schuldig. I want them to hear this.:: Once the others were again included, Brad stated::We're going to hit the checkpoints along the Central Division, crippling their communication between Warsaw and Berlin in a way they haven't seen since the fall of Hitler. I want to remind Esset that if we aren't at the top of their to-do list, we should be. I want them to think that their strategy is not sound, that whoever is calling the shots on their side should be reevaluated. The sooner we can get them to change tactics, the better. They've been moving us around a damn chessboard. It's time I revealed just what the game really is.::

::The fox is smarter than the mice, though he may seem outnumbered,:: Far observed with a lazy smile. ::Is that it, Crawford? Not fleas, but mice?::

Brad seemed to debate a moment before replying. ::That's right, Farfarello. The mice have got to go.::

::Any time you want me to go a-hunting, just give the word.::

::Thank you,:: Brad acknowledged with a slight bow of his head. ::I will.:: To me he said::Link us out, Schuldig, and come with me.:: He rose and headed for the bathroom.

I stretched and followed him. ::What's up, Brad?:: Hoping to lighten the mood some, I leered at him and added::Or is that the whole point?::

He smiled, but only a little. ::Pervert. No, I just need a shoulder rub. I was going to take a shower, see if that loosened it up any, but…::

::You missed me, didn't you?:: I bantered. Back in the Takatori days, I used to massage his shoulders on a regular basis. That man had kept us in an almost-constant state of stress. Compared to running from Esset, those days were paradise. I stood behind Brad and placed my hands on his shoulders. The muscles felt like steel cable, the kind you see on suspension bridges. "Damn, Brad…"

He sighed and tried to relax under my touch, but I could feel the pulse of tension through his muscles and through his mind, defying him. I kneaded harder, until my hands began to ache.

::Schuldig, if this plan fails…::

For a moment I didn't know what to say. Then with sudden comprehension I told him::It won't fail. It can't fail, because it's not really much of a plan, is it?::

Brad chuckled and relaxed a little. ::Good point. But seriously, Schu. If something _does_ go wrong… I just can't See any other way.::

A little tremor of worry vibrated up my spine, leaving chills behind it. ::Brad, why are you really doing this?::

Brad raised his hand to grasp mine. ::Schuldig, what I've Seen… If we don't hit those checkpoints…innocent people will suffer for it.::

I frowned in spite of myself. ::Wait a second, what innocent people? Since when do you care about war casualties? It's sad, yeah, but it can't always be avoided.::

He met my eyes through the mirror. ::If we go this way, everything will be all right, at least for a little while. But if we don't…they're going after my family.::

**  
A/N:**

_without a noise, without my pride_

_I reach out from the inside_

"In Your Eyes" – Peter Gabriel _So_

Welcome to Book Three.

And I don't know if that sneezing thing is an urban myth or scientific fact, but it sure makes an impression when told like that.


	79. 79

**79**

_tonight, make it magnificent_

"God, Brad," I breathed. I didn't know what else to say.

::I don't want the others to know, Schuldig. This is between you and me, understood?::

I wasn't used to seeing Brad vulnerable like this. He looked like a kid in a grown-up costume, graying hair and all. Only his eyes seemed old. I wrapped my arms around his chest and leaned my head against his.

He gave my arm a gentle caress. ::I've let you in farther than I ever expected, Schu. I don't have any choices left. The only way out…is through. That's just the way it is.::

My hands seemed to move on their own, massaging his chest and his belly as we stood there in front of the bathroom mirror. I could feel every breath he took echoed in my own ribs. ::I'm here for you, Brad. Always have been. But I think you know that.::

::I know, Schu. Thank you.:: His hand gripped my wrist, warm and secure.

A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. ::I love you too.::

He pretended he hadn't caught that, but I could tell it was the wrong thing for me to say. His body tensed under my hands, and for a moment I thought he was going to tell me to leave him alone so he could take a shower.

But he surprised me. "Do you want to save some time, shower together?"

This time the smile was no ghost. I grinned at the prospect of a real shower in a real hotel. "Sounds lovely. I'll work on your shoulders some more."

For the first few minutes all we did was wash, reveling in the fresh soap and shampoo and the steam. It had been too long since we had considered such luxury commonplace. I had missed it.

I stood under the spray and rinsed the foam from my hair, letting it slide down my back. Then Brad's hands were there, massaging and sliding over my wet skin. I braced my own hands against the wall as he washed my back, the soap smelling as bright as morning. His hands slid up under my hair, catching the spray in its length and creating a waterfall down my lower back. It felt fantastic.

Then he gently turned me to face him. I blinked at him through the mist.

"You're hogging the water," he said with a tiny crooked smile.

"Sorry about that." I traded places with him, quite aware of his arousal, and my own. As I picked up the soap and turned, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

Brad stood facing away from me, the water cascading over his broad shoulders and running in little rivers down his back. In the wash, his hair hid the gray, capping his head in ebony like an oriole, something a little more wild than tame, a creature of the air, not of land. The muscles in his back and shoulders worked as he washed that hair, revealing chiseled crevices and angles, and scars. Hundreds of scars, some small, some legendary. I'd seen them all before, but today they seemed very noticeable. We had all lost some weight since going on the run, but only on Brad did it look flattering, in a very rugged, hard way.

I lathered up a wad of suds and began working on his shoulders as promised. As I had done, he braced his hands against the wall, and for one amazing moment I wished I were inclined to top him. He was beautiful.

I closed my eyes and kneaded his shoulders, all the while trying to ignore the profound ache that dared me to try the unthinkable.

Then I felt him turn beneath my hands. Water spilled from his hair to catch in mine, trailing over our bodies as though we were one. His hands rose and pulled me closer. His breath tasted sweet as he pressed his lips to mine. Our erections brushed one another, nuzzled together as though each sought the other's heat.

I reached down and gave them both a squeeze. His pulse throbbed against my own.

Slowly Brad backed me toward the other wall, away from the spray. Then he gently turned me around, kissing along my jaw and down to my shoulder as he did so. I felt my toes catch on the skid-proof tub strips as Brad positioned us both.

What I felt in my heart made me want to stop time. Though he still couldn't say it, I knew that he loved me. I only wished I knew why it hurt him so much.

He took me in silence, merging his flesh with mine as we clung to the wet tiles and breathed steam like mating dragons. I spared one hand to stroke myself as Brad gripped my hips securely and thrust. Glancing down, I could see the muscles and tendons in his calves and feet, tense and strong and sure, the last bit of soap foam dancing around his toes. Then I let my eyes drift shut.

His passion filled me, in body and mind, and I heard myself panting before I registered I was out of breath. I stroked faster, the heat of the shower and the intense sensations getting the better of me and making me feel like I was about to pass out. With a mind-numbing jolt I came, spilling against the tile wall like I had in so many other showers before, though the water there was never so warm…

Strong arms held me up, then eased me down until I was sitting in the tub. Spilt seed glided down the tiles, probably getting in my hair, but all I could think about was breathing. Everything seemed to be pulsing with my heartbeat, sound and vision fading in and out with every thump.

Brad turned the water to cool; a soothing rain replaced the heady steam at once. He knelt and cupped my face in his hands. "Are you all right?"

I nodded, feeling too hot and thirsty and disoriented to speak.

Careful not to slip, Brad stepped out of the shower and fetched a glass of water. He held it to my lips, as my hands shook too much to be trusted with something so fragile.

When I started feeling a little more normal, he left the glass in my care and toweled off, then opened the door to let the room air out. I thought for a moment that we'd left Nagi and Far alone together for too long, but then I remembered we were in a public place, a hotel room, and Far knew better, no matter how deranged he might become.

I crawled forward to turn off the shower, then eased out of the tub. My legs were still shaky, and aside from the fainting spell I felt like I'd had the tumble of my life. Or one of them, anyway; definitely in the top ten. I sighed. My head was starting to ache, though, a sure sign I'd gone too far. Not a good thing, especially after fantastic sex. Getting an honest reaction from Brad was difficult enough; if he thought I was too high-maintenance, would he even bother again?

My worries evaporated as Brad returned to the bathroom with my clothes, and a smile. "Guess I don't know my own strength," he quipped, leaning against the counter. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," I said, almost smirking. "You?"

"Much. Tha–"

I waved a hand at him. "No need to thank me, I was just doing my job," I said with a cheesy movie-cowboy twang.

"The Lone Stranger strikes again, eh?" Brad moved closer until I could feel the warmth of his body against my cooling skin. He leaned in and kissed me tenderly on the mouth. "It's not actually your job, Schu. You could say no."

"Not that kind of job, no," I agreed, "you're not a leader privilege kind of guy. And I wouldn't give it to you if you were." I caught his hand in mine and tangled our fingers together. With a sigh, I asked one of the questions that had been haunting me all my adult life. "Brad, will we ever figure out what's real and what's just rules? I mean, if one of us thinks one way, and the other –"

This time Brad shushed me, laying a finger across my lips. "Sometimes I think we say what we were taught to say, though we know better. Esset gave us our roles and our scripts. What we do with them is up to us. Real…is what we make of it." Something in his eyes went dark as he whispered, "I can tell the difference." Then he kissed me again, but this time it tasted like ashes.

I wanted so badly to just reach into his mind and find out why, but that would be a betrayal on a par with rape, and I don't do those games. Never have, not likely to start now. Not with him.

As he left the bathroom, I whispered, "I do love you, Brad. May your ghosts one day allow you to say the same for me." I wiped my eyes with a towel and finished dressing.

A/N: 

_tonight, make it magnificent_

"Atomic" – Blondie _Eat To the Beat_

The past and future resonate more strongly in Brad than the present does, except for those rare moments that Schu manages to see behind the mask. Yes, there are echoes here. And they speak volumes.


	80. 80

**80**

_I'm gettin' real shot down and I – I'm feeling mean._

Elbow on the windowsill and head cradled against my hand, I stared blankly out the window as Brad drove westward. No one spoke. It was as though someone had woven a spell, and we were all caught up in it, moving in the only direction left to us. I wondered how much Nagi and Farfarello understood, in spite of Brad's reluctance to tell them his real reason for this journey.

Those three days in the hotel had left us refreshed and scared. Followed by another three days on the road, during which time I tried to psych myself up for battle. Now that we had a target, we couldn't pretend that it would ever be over, though I was the only one who had ever really thought that. We were in it for real, now.

The only way out is through.

Beside the highway, trees in early autumn blush painted a deceptively innocent landscape. But I knew better. Behind that pretty mask lay a centuries-old rot. Eastern Europe: once the home of royals and long-held riches, cultures old and known and respected. Now it was the playground for Esset. Countries weary of war and division purchased dubious safety from a willing seller, paying in gold and their unquestioning loyalty.

I sighed, fresh disgust for our former master settling into my chest in a weary tight knot.

Throughout the brutality of the twentieth century, Esset had been reshaping Europe and northern Asia, sculpting it the way an artist shaves chips of granite away from the imagined perfect form beneath. The chips, of course, are discarded: Jews, Gypsies, hopeful immigrants, the different. Discarded, in the swell of empire.

I barely remembered my earliest classes at Rosenkreuz, but ironically I remembered my few weeks at Berlin all too well. The history of the world, Esset-style. Nothing too specific, of course; we were a bunch of twelve-year-olds, for crying out loud. But still, the taste of dominion was there, the bitter seed, the dregs of civilization. Esset claimed that it had already designed a perfect world, and all we had to do was fill it with perfect men.

Perfect men do not have red hair and bad attitudes.

"Hey, are you listening to me?"

I blinked out of my reverie. "Huh? Sorry, Brad. What is it?"

"We're six hours out from Poland. The office I'm looking for is just inside the border. We'll have to move fast once we get there. I was asking if you're ready for it."

I nodded and reached for a bottle of water. "Yeah, I'm ready. What's the plan? Or are we winging it?"

Brad shook his head. "Not yet. I'm not risking discovery until we absolutely have to." He glanced at me. "Nothing personal, but I trust my own shields more than yours, Schuldig. You understand."

Instead of saying any more, I took a drink and turned my attention back to the scenery. Six hours. And the way he was acting, Brad wouldn't give us any information until we were pulling into the parking lot. Well, I could handle that. I'd be a basket case, sure, but at least I'd be content about it.

But Brad surprised me. "Stop with the water and have some caffeine. I want you working on those shields. I'll go over what I can of the plans, what I have to arrange in advance, as soon as you're a little more secure."

Fair enough, I thought. Besides, the water was already gone; seemed like an awfully small bottle, actually. I reached for a soda, and some headache pills for good measure. The ones with caffeine in them. May as well do this right. Then I put on my headphones and let the music cover my thoughts with translucent steel.

If I were weary, the caffeine would actually slow me down and let me rest, but today I felt energized. I pushed a tempting fantasy from my thoughts before it could take form: if there were any agents spying on me, I didn't want them finding a daydream about Esset surrendering to Brad Crawford. It would only piss them off.

Still, I had to smile at the idea.

I woke to a gentle shaking at my shoulder. Nagi leaned over my seat and nudged me again until my eyes opened the rest of the way. Startled, I took a quick inventory: it was dark, my CD player's batteries had run down, and someone had relieved me of my soda.

"He's awake, Crawford," Nagi stated, settling back in his seat.

Yawning, I tried to get my brain working a little faster. It bothered me that I could drop off like that; I must have been more tired than I realized. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. "Yeah, I'm awake. Where are we?"

"We're at the border," Brad stated. "About an hour till showtime."

I debated between water and caffeine before grabbing a bottled water and chugging it. If caffeine made me sluggish today, I didn't want it. At least I didn't wake up with a headache. ::So, am I clear?::

::Doesn't matter. We're out of time,:: Brad told me with a sidelong glance. Then he addressed the team out loud. "The first checkpoint is coming up. We will go right through their front door, then pick up a car on the other side. There will be cameras in the parking lot; they'll see us the moment we leave this vehicle. There will be cameras inside as well; let's make a lasting impression. Schuldig, I need you to deal with as many as you can telepathically. Nagi, disrupt their communications and databases. Fry them, but try to leave the videos intact. Farfarello, the main desk should have validation stamps for travel documents. Take as many as you can carry. Also anything else lying about that looks useful. Any questions?"

"If they fight?" I asked. "What's you policy on combat?"

"I would prefer not to resort to firearms, or any overt violence," Brad told us. "It would unnerve Esset far more if we can do this without bloodshed. I want the video record to show the four of us, moving as a team and waltzing right through their precious checkpoint."

"Then what, Crawford?" Nagi asked. "Once we leave there, where do we go next?"

"There are two more checkpoints to the south that I want to hit before heading toward Berlin. That way, if things go sour, we keep on southward until we reach the mountains. But I've Seen this working, gentlemen. We clear out the Polish checkpoints, then aim for Germany. Esset will scramble to head us off, and they will no doubt try to offer us a chance to surrender." He smiled grimly and added, "They only do that when they know they're losing. And that's what I'm after: the moment I have that offer, both sides will know who won."

"And then?" I murmured. "What will they do when we spit in their eye?" I didn't want to consider what would happen if Brad meant to accept their terms.

"With any luck, they will have another round of housecleaning, and our mouse problem will be over. Esset doesn't tolerate failure, especially at the command level." His eyes went dark, and for just a moment he looked a little sad. "He's playing my game now."

I knew better than to ask.

A/N: 

_I'm gettin' real shot down and I – I'm feeling mean._

"No More Mr. Nice Guy" – Alice Cooper _Billion Dollar Babies_

Schuldig knows that this isn't really his fight, it's something between Brad and Esset; Schwarz is more observer than player. This, naturally, pisses the redhead off big time.


	81. 81

**81**

_Give your ID card to the border guard,_

_yeah it really says you're Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets_

'_cause he won't speak English anyway…_

As Brad pulled the car into the parking lot, I could almost taste the adrenalin in my own spit. Like a commando squad, we exited the car with rehearsed speed, Farfarello and Nagi carrying our bags with no waste of time or energy. Brad and I strode ahead into the building, heads slightly bowed so they wouldn't immediately see our faces, though his black hair and glasses and my trademark mane would surely get their attention.

I preceded Brad into the public front office of the checkpoint and immediately reached out to all the startled minds within it. I ignored for the moment anyone who hadn't seen us come in; my intention was to disable these first, then deal with any leftovers. Moving fast, we strode through the outer office. I found the guy with the security code and made him open the inner door for us, and just that easy Brad and I were within the heart of Checkpoint One-Alpha, Poland.

Only one man had the strength of will to fight me. As his fellows meekly returned to their desks, this one struggled to reach the alarm switch. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I pushed harder against his shields, forcing my way inside with no subtlety. Blood seeped from his eyes as he sank to the floor.

Standing in the center of the room, Nagi closed his eyes in concentration; every hair on the right side of my body stirred as though swept with a static wand. The air took on the burnt-metal stench of ozone as the computers let loose with a chorus of breathless pops and sharp crackles. The overhead lights flickered a few seconds until the battery backup kicked in.

Farfarello darted behind the counter and scooped up the stamps and seals while the clerk sat in a dreamless stupor. Then he helped himself to two computer back-up tapes, a set of data keys, and a pack of gum. I smiled in spite of myself. Far had just given Esset a red herring. Brad didn't need any information here; besides, the data storage devices might or might not have survived Nagi's electro-magnetic pulse. But now Esset would waste more time wondering what we were really after. Things were going exactly according to Brad's plan.

My head was starting to hurt, and I could feel several more operatives on their way to investigate the odd silence in the main office. They'd probably recognized us on their video monitors before the power was disrupted – this would, of course, explain their reluctance to get involved.

Brad checked his watch, then signaled it was time to go. I trailed behind the others, my mind still engaged in keeping the guards from following us. With smooth precision, Brad selected one of the officer's cars and brought it around to pick me up as I exited the building at a trot.

One young agent slipped my telepathic net. He staggered out the door behind me, drew his gun and struggled to take aim. With an almost casual thought I knocked him out.

The pistol fired as he fell, the bullet flying wild and the report sending a fresh wave of pain through my head. I could barely hear Brad pushing the car door open for me. I hesitated. Locking onto the kid's mind, I hit him hard enough to leave scars. It wouldn't cost him his life, probably not his sanity, either; but it would slow him down for several hours, and that was all the lag time we needed.

As I jumped into the car, Brad hit the gas and veered out onto the road. Then he scowled and demanded, "What took so long? What the hell did you do back there?"

"I bought us time, Einstein," I growled, reaching for the migraine tablets. "Besides, anyone who's uninjured will be suspected of helping us escape. You said no bloodshed, so I improvised."

Brad relaxed visibly. For a moment it looked like he was falling into a vision, not a good thing while driving dangerously fast. Then he smiled and nodded. "Good thinking. You know of course they will probably kill him anyway."

"Yeah, I know. But at least it looks like he fought us." I paused to gag down two pills with a mouthful of water. "He did fire off one shot."

"Exactly." Brad's smile turned dark. "And when word gets around, as it always does, other agents will be appalled that their own organization would kill them for failure, even though we are much stronger than they were told we'd be. They didn't have a chance, and they know this. Dissension is a cancer that Esset will find hard to eradicate. Congratulations, you've just changed the future."

"Is that a good thing?" I asked, somehow not at all happy.

"It's a necessary thing," Brad murmured. "We keep showing a strong front, we walk in and take what we want, and we leave a trail of wounded and frightened operatives in our wake. But, unless we must, we do not kill them. Let Esset be the assassin. Their agents' fear will become our strongest ally."

His words faded into a headache the likes of which I hadn't endured in a long damn time. Merciful blackness rose up to claim me before the pain became unbearable…

A/N: 

_Give your ID card to the border guard,_

_yeah it really says you're Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets_

'_cause he won't speak English anyway…_

"Banditos" – The Refreshments _Fizzy Fuzzy Big & Buzzy_

"Dissension is a cancer that Esset will find hard to eradicate. Congratulations, you've just changed the future." This event is one of the pivotal points that will reinforce Schwarz's humanity in the eyes of at least one hunter. And that is precisely Crawford's intention.

As Berger had already observed in TTAtD chapter 7: "Brad Crawford was no criminal, he was a liberator who had failed to destroy the entire regime, and was now being hunted by its vengeance machinery." Dissension, indeed.


	82. 82

**82**

_in this silence I can hear_

_all the fury and the fear_

_but I promise you my love_

_I will not leave you here_

A few hours of oblivion, a handful of junk food, a bottle of caffeine and a stick of stolen chewing gum made me feel nearly human again.

I knew that Brad had wanted to go directly from target to target, but with my meltdown he changed his plan without breaking stride. As soon as I declared myself functional, Brad pulled the car over and traded seats with me. "Make a circle, veering right," he told me by way of directions. "We need time to rest before the next stop. Come back around to this road before sunrise and I'll take over the driving."

The night passed as all nights pass for a moving target: too damn slow. By the time dawn lit the horizon, we were very low on fuel, and my passengers were restless and hungry.

Rather than search for a filling station, we caught an unwary motorist and traded cars at gunpoint, then switched vehicles again at a rest stop. As I drove away, Brad stared blankly into the eyes of a vision. It only lasted a few moments. He checked his watch the moment he tuned back in to the present, then he put his hand on my arm. ::We need to waste some time. There's movement ahead of us.::

::Did they anticipate your plan?:: I asked, a little afraid of what it might mean if they had.

But Brad shook his head. ::Reaction, not anticipation. They're sending reinforcements to all the border units.::

::And we're still going there?:: I glanced over at him. ::Explain to me how this is a good thing.::

Brad gave me a rather lupine smirk as he replied::It's exactly what I was hoping they would do. I wish I could tell you more, but I can tell you this – I'm not the only one who noticed.::

::And that made no sense whatsoever. Thanks, Brad, you just left me more upset than you found me. Nice work.::

::Pull over, drama queen. I'll drive for a while.::

Brad let the countryside hide us, making our stops random and few. Late that afternoon we pulled into another narrow parking lot, and once again Schwarz stormed an Esset checkpoint. This time, however, Nagi shorted out the cameras before we ever left the car: there would be no video record of this visit. And this time, rather than simply overwhelm the minds of the agents inside, Brad told me to show them different faces, a different rogue team on the loose. The extra operatives would only add confusion with their reports, as they were actively expecting us and my sleight of mind turned their assumptions to chaos in an eyeblink.

With no evidence otherwise, Esset should have a hell of a puzzle to sort out.

Nagi took roughly four minutes to plant contradictory information on their server, laying a false trail that would look as though someone had downloaded all the data to an untraceable location. Then he introduced a program that would destroy or distort all data that had any connection to that checkpoint's server. He made it look like a professional hacker had done the deed from outside.

While Nagi worked and Farfarello ransacked the office for data backups and random souvenirs, I kept a steady illusion upon us all. In spite of the constant effort, I felt a surge of energy and strength within myself that I hadn't expected. The growing headache faded away, leaving me clear-headed and nearly glowing with optimism. As we left that building, my mood was higher than it had been in weeks. In a way, we were pranking Esset, leading them on a wild goose chase with phantom geese.

Or rather, phantom geese disguised as phantom ducks. The only evidence of Schwarz was the momentary disruption in the camera system before the whole thing went dead, and that was purely circumstantial. As far as the operatives were concerned, four swarthy men in matching paramilitary gear had breezed in, overridden their systems, then vanished like morning fog.

Nagi kept hold of their electrical system as Brad drove away. When he let go, the backlash of energy ran through their radio tower, effectively frying their connection to Esset's network. I hurried to switch off the car radio as it whistled with feedback and sympathetic static.

"Excellent work, gentlemen," Brad stated, his voice rough with excitement. "Things are falling into place by the hour. This will work."

In the absence of the anticipated hideous headache, I helped myself to a soda and joined Farfarello in a candy-bar toast.

"To being excellent!" Far offered, raising his snack on high.

"Be excellent to each other!" I replied, tapping my candy against his in a shower of crisp chocolate confetti.

Nagi groaned. "Schuldig, that was awful."

"What? I love that movie!"

"No, not that. You dropped candy all over me." He tried to wipe the crumbs off without smearing them, but to no avail. With a sigh he slumped back in his seat and glared out the window.

Farfarello popped open a box and offered Nagi a wet-wipe.

The good mood lingered into the night, through a satisfying nap and even remained while I took my turn driving. At Rosenkreuz, they had always claimed that practice could make a telepath stronger, and I had gotten rather complacent of late. The workout against the second checkpoint had left me feeling more satisfied than I'd been in a long time, at least as far as my telepathy was concerned.

As we approached our third target in as many days, Brad cautioned me that we would probably run into even more agents there. "They've had two days since the first sighting, and their nearest neighbor has been rendered inoperable," he stated, managing to sound only vaguely smug. "They will be prepared, though they won't be quite certain what they're prepared for. Show them yet another set of four, Schuldig. Hit them hard and fast." He glanced at me and added, "If they struggle too much, take them out."

"Is that part of your strategy, or are you worried I might not be able to handle them all?"

"I'll do it," offered a soft whisper from the back seat, the voice devoid of inflection. "Pretty's but a trickster. I am the hand of Death."

::Shit!::

Brad's mental voice was tense as he stated::I'm driving, Schu. Deal with it, quickly please.::

"You're talking about me again."

Nagi edged away from Farfarello to huddle by the door.

"Yes, we were," I said, forcing a light tone. "I was bitching about you, Far. When you called me 'Pretty' it reminded me of Schreient." I hoped against hope that changing the subject to something petty would make things better, not worse. If I guessed wrong, we'd have a very bad situation before Brad could stop the car.

This time, though, I'd managed to get it right and screw it up all in one breath. Farfarello paused to consider what I'd said, but Nagi seemed to wilt at my words. Sudden comprehension made me wish I could turn back time, either just over two minutes or just under two years. We'd never talked about that day, the day the last apparent shred of Nagi's innocence had died. Me and my big mouth – in trying to defuse Farfarello, I had managed to remind Nagi of one of the worst moments of his short life.

::Nagi, I –::

::Shut up, Schuldig.:: Nagi glared, his mental voice like stripped metal. ::You left me.:: His shields shut me out as neatly as a well-maintained airlock.

And here I'd thought he was upset about the girl.

::She left me too,:: came the tiny murmur of thought before Nagi hid within himself completely.

Far took note of Nagi's withdrawal, then aimed a furious glare at me. The copper and gold of his eye whirled like a distant galaxy. Then his features relaxed and he shrugged. "You're lying, Schuldig. You weren't talking about that." He leaned toward Nagi, one hand reaching over to prod his shoulder. The vague lilt seemed to be returning as he asked, "D'ye know why I call him Pretty, little rabbit?"

Nagi didn't react that I could see, but Far smiled and kept talking as though the kid had invited the conversation. "The first time we met, I told Schuldig that he was the prettiest German I'd ever seen, the only pretty one at all, in fact. That's what set him apart from the others, you see. Pretty. That, and he's not as much of a pervert as the rest of them."

"Not as much?" I asked, vaguely insulted but not sure why.

Still facing the window and giving no indication he'd even heard Farfarello, Nagi snorted a little laugh. "Schuldig, he's saying you're still a pervert, just not a very good one." Then he glanced at the madman sitting next to him as if checking to make sure that this comment was, in fact, funny.

Far winked at him, a gesture that had taken some getting used to, to tell it apart from a one-eyed blink. The lines around both eyes crinkled up when he winked, and this time his features fairly glowed with laughter. "See? Even our little rabbit knows what you are."

"Ha ha," I grumbled, though not really upset. At least he'd gotten Nagi to laugh, even if it was at my expense.

"Look sharp, gentlemen," Brad stated, either unaware of or dismissing my faux pas and the ensuing drama. "We have a checkpoint to take down."

A/N: 

_in this silence I can hear_

_all the fury and the fear_

_but I promise you my love_

_I will not leave you here_

"Orphean Wing" – The Crüxshadows _Wishfire_

Okay, so I'm commenting on the song. My Nagi has a real problem with abandonment. In the aftermath of the destruction of Schreient, the rest of Schwarz was nowhere to be seen as Weiß contemplated Nagi and Tot, motionless among the wreckage, hands entwined. Then, in a surreal moment, lightning flashed as Tot staggered to her feet (and her eyes looked hauntingly like Nagi's). Did Nagi wake among the rubble, alone except for Tot's equally abandoned toy rabbit? Is this song about Nagi and Tot, then? Nagi's loss of trust and whatever innocence he still possessed? Or is it Farfarello's unrequited love for Nagi – and Nagi's unacknowledged return of that love? All I know is, this song makes me cry every damn time I hear it…

"Be excellent to each other!" – The quote is from "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure", a most excellent movie that at least half of Schwarz and your humble writer highly recommend.

The German word for "pretty" is, of course, "schön", the name of the whip-wielding former model in Schreient.

The fact that Farfarello can bring Nagi out of his despair with a few words is not a coincidence. In a way, they speak the same language. Remember, my Nagi is autistic – he sees a different reality than the one Schuldig or Brad live in. Farfarello has a valid passport for that reality.


	83. 83

**83**

_It's time we had a break from it_

_It's time we had some leave_

The third checkpoint proved to be my limit. Two-score operatives, nearly a third of whom were psi-talents, had to be subdued within a matter of seconds as Nagi overrode the electrical systems and broke into their database. I stood still, trembling and covered in a fine sheen of sweat while Farfarello and Brad confiscated the backups and an assortment of documents. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was going to faint from overexertion. I ground my teeth together and concentrated on holding the illusion on our captive audience, all the while hoping my team would hurry the hell up and get me out of there.

Again we left the database in shambles, with traps laid to slow any sort of recovery for their system. And again Nagi fried their communications setup. Bonus for us, this checkpoint was part of the secure relay system for Esset: we'd just wrecked part of their East-West broadcast net. I didn't know if Brad had known this before coming here, but I suspected that he had. His strategy consisted of more layers than a death-by-chocolate cake, and we only saw the frosting.

I kept the thought of chocolate in my mind as I retreated to the safety of the car. My head hurt, a dull, steady pain unlike my usual rebound headaches. Only when Brad signaled me did I release my hold on the Esset agents. I promptly collapsed in a sweaty, exhausted heap.

Cool, gentle hands caressed my forehead with soothing feather-touches. A wet cloth passed over my face, trailed across my lips. I licked at the moisture. The cool hands moved away, then returned to offer me a bottle of water. Nagi's voice followed them across the void in my head: "Don't drink fast, Schuldig. Just sip."

I clutched at the bottle as though I had been lost in the desert, but his words slowed me just enough. That, and my hands shook too much to hold the bottle securely.

From the corner of his eye, Brad watched, his lips pressed to thinness in an expression of deep concern.

Nagi addressed him with calm certainty. "Psychic overextension. The body pays for the gift after a certain point. He needs rest, Crawford. Real food would be nice, but rest is crucial."

Brad nodded, distracted. "That's his condition. What's yours?"

"I'm fine," Nagi replied, meeting Brad's gaze through the rearview mirror. With a shrug he added, "Electricity is easier than matter, that's all."

"Ah, right," Brad said. To me, he asked, "How do you feel?"

"Like total shit."

Brad seemed to be debating something; his forehead wrinkled in a slight frown. Then he said, "There's a campground not far from here, at Swietokrzyski National Park. Should be fairly secure. We'll stay there for a few days, blend in with the tourists, get some decent rest. If the weather holds, it won't be bad at all. And from what I've Seen, summer isn't going anywhere just yet." He offered me a slight smile. "You've earned a break. You all have."

"The Holy Cross Mountains," Far murmured, his voice soft. "I've heard of them."

My eyes slid shut on their own. I did not have the energy or inclination to deal with this. For a moment I hoped that Nagi would just grab a hypo and stab him on principle.

But then Far chuckled, a disturbingly reassuring sound. "I've always wanted to see Lysa Gora. It's sort of a pilgrimage, in a way."

"Bald Mountain," Brad said. I glanced over at him; he smiled and asked, "Disney, or Mussorgsky?"  
Farfarello replied without hesitation. "Rimsky-Korsakov. He improved upon the original."

"No he didn't," Nagi stated flatly. "Change is not always improvement." He paused, then added, "You do realize that particular Bald Mountain is at Kiev, not in Poland, don't you?"

Far leaned closer to Nagi and whispered, "Oh, there are many Bald Mountains. Kiev is just the most famous."

I tuned them all out before they could get any more technical. Inwardly, I smiled. Nagi bantering with Farfarello was one of those odd signs that life went on just as it should. Now if I could just get my mind and my body to go along with the program.

After claiming another bottle of water, I watched idly as lingering traffic melted away behind us and the trees clustered more thickly along the road. Autumn had really painted this landscape with flash: the towering trees glowed red and gold, filtering the sunlight into a stained glass mosaic that soon had me nearly hypnotized. All that talk of Disney led me to imagine the trees actually moving forward to show off their colors. Decent rest would be a good thing. I felt like I hadn't slept in days, which wasn't technically true, but sometimes bad sleep was worse than no sleep. I muffled a yawn with the back of my hand, then fell into another fitful doze.

When I woke, I wasn't sure anymore how long we'd been in Poland, whether one day or three or ten. My mind felt fuzzy with overuse and fatigue. Late afternoon sunshine slanted bright and warm through my window as Brad switched off the ignition and we piled out of the car to stretch. He'd driven to the end of the area where cars were allowed to go and parked in an isolated clearing, well away from other campers and tourists. There was only so much blending we could do, after all, and privacy would be much appreciated. I felt like I could sleep for days on end.

Brad had selected a campsite on a hill, with good cover for us and a decent view of the rest of the park. Just above us on the hill sat a ranger station, which should serve as a good early warning system if anything should go wrong.

"Let's go up and take a look around," Brad suggested. "I'd rather have a clear map in my head, in case we need it." He paused before shutting the car door, a slight frown creasing his forehead. With a glance at me, he murmured, "Déjà vu. Come on."

A scattering of early fallen leaves decorated the spongy dirt, made my footfalls crackle. The ground beneath seemed to absorb sound, an interesting counterpoint. If I were the outdoorsy type, I would think it was all rather pleasant. As it was, I watched the path for centipedes.

Though the incline wasn't terribly steep, I found myself falling behind as we trudged up the little hill. I couldn't seem to catch my breath. True, we were in the mountains, but we hadn't come that high up, had we? I paused, leaning heavily against a tree as my eyesight seemed to fade in and out of focus in time with my ragged breathing. Before the others could get too far ahead, or notice that I was not with them, I forced myself to move, one stubborn step at a time.

::Stop.:: Farfarello's mental voice echoed through the team link.

My skin prickled with warning. I couldn't read Farfarello at all. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to stand still a moment. My teammates stood about seven meters ahead of me, just inside the treeline. They were almost within view of the ranger station.

Nothing moved.

I sent out a tentative scan.

The station was empty.

But we were not alone.

A/N:

_It's time we had a break from it_

_It's time we had some leave_

"Veteran of the Psychic Wars" – Blue Öyster Cult _Fire of Unknown Origin_

"The Swietokrzyski National Park was established on May 1, l950. It covers the central, best-preserved part of the Swietokrzyskie Mountains (The Holy Cross Mountains). The mountains take their name from an old Benedictine Abbey...

"…Lysa Gora (Bald Mountain, 595 m above sea level)..."

(All information on this park researched through (http://) poland(dot)pl/info/informationaboutpoland (slash) environment (dot) htm

Brad, Farfarello, and Nagi are discussing "Night on Bald Mountain" – the orchestral tone poem and the final sequence from Disney's _Fantasia_. Composed by Modest Mussorgsky, his "Ivanova noch' na Lisoy gore" was re-worked by Rimsky-Korsakov and again by Stokowski before seeping into the consciousness of movie watchers everywhere. Only the equally haunting "Ave Maria" could break the demon Chernobog's dark spell in one of the most memorable animated sequences ever inked.

(Thank you, Wikipedia.)


	84. 84

**84**

_with the rage of the seraphs at my side_

::Get back to the car!:: Brad ordered, drawing his gun.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Farfarello dropped to a crouch and crept toward the clearing.

::Get to the car!:: Crawford repeated, though he showed no intention of following his own order.

Movement was not an option for me either as I focused on tightening our team link. Right now, communication was more important than retreat: we had to be ready for anything.

Around me, a cool breeze picked up, stirring the leaves from the path. Clouds skidded across the sun; in the sudden shadow, the temperature seemed to plummet. I started to dismiss this as my own fear coloring my perceptions, but then I saw my breath turn to fog. ::_What the hell?_::

Farfarello's mental voice whispered into my mind with a flat and hollow sensation that chilled me more than the rising wind. ::They want the boy.::

::Farfarello, get back to the damn car!::

::No.:: Far looked back at us, at me, and slowly shook his head. ::No. They want the boy.:: He regarded Nagi with a sad smile. ::I will not let them take him.::

I tried to reason with him, to get him moving. ::They want all of us, not just Nagi. We have to go, we have to go now!::

::You go, keep the boy safe. I'll take care of these. Don't worry. I won't be long.:: Farfarello rose and turned with the grace of a dancer; from somewhere on his person he produced three knives. Brandishing one point forward in his left fist, he gripped the other two like a double-ended dagger in his right. As sure as a hunting cat he paced into the clearing, holding his single blade at the ready and twirling the twin knives in a casual blur of steel.

Gun in hand, Brad turned from the scene and headed back down the hill. ::Come on. We don't have much time.::

Nagi took a few stumbling steps after Crawford, then stopped. ::You're not just leaving him?!::

::I said let's go. Schuldig, bring Nagi.::

::We have no choice, kid.:: I reached out and took hold of Nagi's hand as if he were a child again.

Face twisted with fury, Nagi wrenched his hand free. "You can't just leave him!"

The chill breeze turned into wind, cold and circling. Dead leaves rustled and rose into the current, crumbling to dust in the increasing violence of the gale.

::Schuldig, Nagi, move it!:: Brad's command came through clear and strong. So did his fear: _he hadn't Seen any of this!_

"Nagi, damn it, go! He's buying us time!" I shouted against the rising storm. My breath hung white in the air for a moment before the wind tore the tiny cloud to pieces. ::He'll follow us when he's done. We can't stop him now.::

"NO! I won't leave Farfarello!" Nagi half-turned and stared back up the hill, his eyes wide and dark. A fine blur of white ghosted across my vision – it was snowing. Late summer, and it was _snowing_.

Gunshots echoed across the hillside.

I came around in front of Nagi, bodily blocking his view of the clearing. "Move, Prodigy! That is an order!" I snarled, trying to get a lock on his mind and force him to follow Brad to the car, to safety.

Ice-laden wind stole my breath. I coughed, nearly doubled over; I clung to Nagi for support. Bracing my feet against the dirt, I gripped Nagi's thin shoulders and shoved, hoping to get him moving.

My shoes slid backward on the half-frozen ground, dropping me to my knees at his feet.

My head hurt, the pressure from the team link only part of it. Some of the hunters were telepaths, their mental search pressing against my shields with increasing force. They were talking loudly amongst themselves, creating a mental buzz that threatened to push me into a migraine. I had to get Nagi moving, I had to draw my gun; instead I glanced behind me, at the clearing.

Fafarello held at least five operatives at bay; they seemed reluctant to get close to him. I saw movement on the far side of the clearing as several more agents came in for the kill. The Irishman feinted and jeered, engaging them all in a bizarre dance of the mad.

In the moment I realized _he's playing with them_, Farfarello whirled and leaped with a speed they clearly had not expected. His right hand swept up, down, back: two blades, one mind. A fine crimson mist paused mid-air before falling with the snow.

Under my hands, Nagi had gone very still.

Some of the other operatives were trying to circle around Far to get at us. Off to my right I heard the sharp report of Brad's handgun.

From the clearing a voice called out, "I've got him, get the others."

_God, no!_ "Run, kid! We can't win here!" I tried to turn Nagi around and get him the hell moving.

It was like trying to push a mountain.

I got my feet back under me and wrapped my arms around Nagi, intending to lift him and carry him to the car. But Nagi had anchored himself to the spot: I could no more move him than I could uproot the damn trees. The effort made my legs feel like rubber. I sank back down to a crouch and tried to focus my thoughts. They wouldn't obey either. _No, it can't end like this! Gunned down, shot in the back like a common fugitive!_ I held Nagi, shielding him with my own body, though I knew it wouldn't do much good. They would come, and we would die, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it.

I tried one more time to overwhelm Nagi's will, to force him to retreat. His mind hummed with singular focus, intent on only one thing in the world: Farfarello. A gut-wrenching vertigo hit me, and for a moment I thought it was an enemy attack – then I realized I was looking out over my own shoulder. Now truly helpless, I clung to Nagi as his mind engulfed mine, pulling me in and showing me the world through his eyes.

The snow intensified. I stared in horror, unable to move, unable to look away as our own death swarmed across the clearing. The agents parted around an immobile Farfarello as if he were nothing more than a statue. They had a telekinetic, then. Of course they did.

A series of gunshots rang out, some rapid, some measured. I felt a quick hot sting across my right shoulder; this brought me back to myself, but only briefly. Frozen in that moment, I watched a tiny snippet of Nagi's hair floating in the wake of the bullet that had bitten me, then deflected neatly before it could pierce his skull.

_Why don't they just kill us and get it over with?_

As from a great distance I heard Brad cursing, followed by the crashing of someone leaping through deadfall. I became dimly aware of my own body growing very cold. Through Nagi's eyes I saw a thin film of melting snow in my own hair.

Against my chest, Nagi trembled, but did not look away. He would bear witness to Farfarello's capture, unable to stop any of it.

Through a veil of blood, Farfarello glared at one of the operatives. Nagi recognized the man as a fellow telekinetic: _Far knew who was holding him._

The Irishman smiled, and closed his eye. His expression changed into a mask of pure will.

The explosive snap of a bone breaking echoed in the chill air.

Farfarello took one lumbering step forward, blood pouring from his right shin.

Panicked screams and desperate commands rang through my head, bringing with them fresh waves of pain.

::Oh dear God! How did he –::

::He's loose! Watch your back!::

::All hands, we have a situation! Fall back! Containment, containment reply!::

::Oh dear God our Father who art in Heaven he broke his own leg oh God help me…!::

::Demack, watch –!::

Bringing his left hand up in a leisurely arc, Farfarello dispatched the man trying to warn whoever Demack was. Not waiting to see him fall, Far whirled to his right, slicing the throat of another man in passing as he dropped low to strike at a third. Rising, he delivered a backhanded slash across a gunman's eyes even as the agent opened fire.

My mind recoiled, unable to separate my own thoughts from the images pouring in or from the anguish of the doomed and dying. Pain swelled up; wet heat gushed from my nose, leaving behind the flat taste of copper.

Farfarello danced through the icy wind, carving his way through the operatives as though they were rotten wheat to be cut down and discarded, his injury not slowing him in the least.

_The Berserker lives._

Nagi's heartbeat fluttered like a wounded bird's, his breath rapid and shallow. Still he would not look away, and I was just as trapped as he.

Farfarello reached the telekinetic.

Then, silence: blessed silence, and a hand relieving me of my pistol. Brad stood over us, guarding us as we remained unmoving, frozen in our own strange dance. He fired once, twice; switched to my gun as his own rang empty. The rest of our ammunition was in the car. Part of me wanted to laugh screaming at our circumstance.

Nagi's breath came faster, and his shields flared against mine. I sat back heavily on my heels as the connection between us thinned and snapped. The snow seemed to have stopped. The wind, too, was calming around us, the leaves fluttering to earth like broken wings. With sudden urgency, Nagi wrenched away from me and puked. Steam rose from the ground where it hit.

Crawford holstered his pistol, removed his glasses and wiped at his face with his sleeve, then put his glasses back on and handed me my sidearm. "Cover him."

I forced myself to my feet and looked back up the hill.

Farfarello walked calmly toward us. Blood painted him in bands of savage fury; I knew very little of it was his own. He limped only slightly as he rejoined the team, a preternatural calm upon his features. My hand shook as I raised the pistol and aimed it at his head.

Brad looked around in the underbrush, found what he wanted, and handed three flat pieces of wood to Nagi. He then addressed Farfarello in a commanding voice. "Stand still."

The Irishman did so, swaying a little but remaining where he stopped.

Brad approached him slowly but with no fear. He held out his hand. "Give me one of your knives."

Far obeyed, his movements slow and dreamlike. The blade had already been wiped clean.

Crawford knelt down and cut away the lower half of Far's right pants leg, then handed the bloody fabric to Nagi. Addressing the boy, he said, "Splint him. Quickly."

Nagi hurried to take Brad's place at Farfarello's feet, tearing the cloth into strips as he moved. He wiped off as much blood as he could, then whispered, "Shift your weight, please." When his teammate complied, Nagi grabbed his ankle and pulled, trying to set the bone. "This isn't right. Crawford, help me."

Brad knelt again. With Farfarello pushing his weight the other direction and Brad's strength behind it, they got the bone set. Brad moved aside to allow Nagi to finish the splint.

Farfarello smiled in a serene and distant way. He raised his bloodied right hand and gently lay it on Nagi's head as if in benediction. Nagi looked like he was going to vomit again, but he tied the pieces of wood securely around Far's lower leg and pronounced the job done. He stood, then swayed and crumpled to the ground.

By Crawford's command, Far didn't move, he merely stood there and gazed mildly down at the unconscious boy.

And also by Crawford's command, I didn't move, I merely stood there bleeding from the nose and holding a gun aimed at my best friend's skull.

Without a word, Brad reached down and picked Nagi up as if he were a rag doll. The boy lay limply in his arms.

Brad looked at me. I saw my reflection in his glasses – pale, wide eyed, and quite probably in shock. In a soft voice he said, "Come on. It's over."

* * *

A/N:

_with the rage of the seraphs at my side_

"The Seraphs" – The Crüxshadows _Wishfire_

In the movie "Zatoichi", the title character dispatches 12 men in under 3 minutes – 2 minutes 10.71 seconds, to be precise – and he's blind. And sane.

Just imagine what Farfarello can do.


	85. 85

**85**

_I know exactly what you're thinking_

_But I swear this time I will not let you down_

Brad drove in jawlocked silence.

Mechanically I tended my own injuries: staunching the nosebleed, eating pain pills, and cleaning the gunshot wound as best I could left-handed with the aid of the vanity mirror. My shirt was a total loss, but I couldn't get at my other clothing. So I sat there, shivering with reaction and shock, covered in my own blood and mud where the stuff on my knees had begun to thaw. That's right, I'd fallen on my knees; I'd have to clean those up too, as soon as I had a safe place to take my pants down. I wasn't about to do it now, no matter how much they stung. Brad was driving like a man possessed, and I had no idea if pursuit were nearby. My mind hurt too much to be useful. I'd never had my will overrun like that before, even in training.

I ground my teeth together and swallowed my questions. This wasn't the time to ask them.

In the back seat, Nagi and Farfarello still lay just as we'd arranged them, the kid slumped in one corner, the Irishman in the other with his broken leg propped up across Nagi's lap. I couldn't tell if Far were awake or not, but what really bothered me was I couldn't tell if Nagi were just sleeping. If he slipped into another coma…

"He won't," Brad stated, his voice hard. "Will you shut up and let me concentrate on driving?"

"I didn't say a damn thing, Brad," I snarled.

"Don't start, Schuldig."

I took a deep breath and wished for nicotine. Hell, at that point I was wishing for harder stuff. Anything to blunt the headache and that stretched-too-tight feeling. Instead, I settled for staring out the window at the storm-black night. Behind us, sheets of rain glimmered gray in the occasional flash of lightning.

I cranked up the car's heater. The storm looked like it was following us, a fitting metaphor for the hunters Brad tried so desperately to elude.

Or did he?

My mind spun with possibilities, and as it spun, I began to get really pissed. He'd led us right to them, what the hell did that mean? If Farfarello hadn't scented the trap, what would have happened back there?

Without warning, Brad jerked the steering wheel and slid the car off the road, the tires whining in their vain search for traction. They caught in the gravel and loose earth, pulling the nose of the car toward what looked like a ditch. I held on for dear life.

But the crash never came. Brad maneuvered along the slope of a shallow hill, following the curve of the land back toward the highway and down below a small bridge. He stamped on the brake, nearly throwing me into the dashboard as he threw the gearshift into park. "Get out." He unfastened his own seat belt and reached for the door.

I followed his lead, shrugging my shirt around me as I got out into the damp air. Rain seemed to echo my movements, arriving at the near edge of the bridge before pouring over the other side. It fell hard enough to cover the tire tracks and form a curtain around the underpass.

Brad faced away from me, standing as close to the rain as he could without getting drenched. He'd folded his arms tightly as though holding himself back. "What the hell were you doing back there?"

"What do you mean, what was _I_ doing?" I snarled, adrenalin rising up in my blood. "What the fuck were _you_ doing, you son of a bitch? You nearly got us all killed!"

Brad whirled and glared at me, his expression stony. "You froze."

"I did not!" I stormed closer to him, gesturing in spite of the pain in my shoulder. "Nagi locked down, and I got fucked over trying to move him!"

"You weren't fast enough."

"Fuck you! I did what I could, the kid rooted himself to the goddamn spot and then pulled me into his goddamn head! You should never have taken us there in the first place, unless that was your whole goddamn point!" By this time, I was damn near nose to nose with him. Spittle flew from my lips and my voice had taken on the sharp, screeching tone of a diving hawk. "What the _fuck_ was that, you led us _right to them_!"

I dodged the first blow, took the second in the stomach and doubled over with a gasp. Before Brad regained his stance, I grappled him about the middle and lunged, throwing both of us out into the rain and landing in a tangle in the mud.

Brad's foot came up to kick me in the back as I staggered up. I fell to my knees, my hand wrapping around Brad's ankle and fouling his attempt to get off the ground. His other foot kicked at my wrist.

For a moment we scrambled apart and crouched panting, covered in muck, glaring hatred at one another.

Then Brad took another swing. His thoughts screamed accusation::If anything happened to Nagi, _it's your fault_!::

My thoughts were just as damning. ::You bastard! What happened – your "deal" fall through?::

As we rushed each other, a gray shadow not made of rain drifted between us. Farfarello stood calmly, a blanket in his hands. "You should get out of the rain."

Brad backed away, breathing hard.

I stood there and hugged myself about the middle. Everything hurt.

Far spoke between us, addressing neither. "I can't drive with my leg like this. I need one of you to get us out of here."

Brad took a stumbling step toward the car.

Farfarello draped the blanket about Crawford's shoulders as though he were a disgraced prize fighter.

I followed them both, my questions unanswered.

* * *

A/N:

_I know exactly what you're thinking_

_But I swear this time I will not let you down_

"What Do I Have To Do?" – Stabbing Westward _Wither Blister Burn & Peel_

For those curious about which language the characters are speaking, all these angry words were probably in German. Imagine whichever way you wish, though – but Schu can't scream that well in Japanese.


	86. 86

**86**

"_I did nothing__ – except get caught with my britches down."_

Low voices intruded on a dream of warm breezes and tulips. Funny; as I swam up out of sleep, I could still smell Nagi's hair and the musty scent of a warehouse floor. Reality asserted itself with slow surety, not needing to rush things just yet. Though I couldn't get a fix on the current date, I knew that I wasn't in Amsterdam with Nagi. I just couldn't quite figure out where we actually were.

My shoulder jolted with a bump in the road. I realized I was lying in the back seat of a "borrowed car", and the reason I'd been dreaming of that side trip with Nagi was probably due to the fact that he lay half-sprawled across my lap.

From the front seat, the low voices clarified into a conversation between Brad and Farfarello. I shifted a little and tried to listen as a lingering headache warned me against too much movement.

"…no-win scenario, then?"

"Basically, that's about it." Brad sounded exhausted. "If I forsake my gift, we have no advantage. If they can reliably manipulate my gift, the advantage is theirs."

A long pause made me wonder if I'd drifted back to sleep.

Then: "I smelled your fear."

Brad glanced over at the Irishman. "Did that give you your answer?"

"You weren't expecting them. I knew that."

Another pause.

"Schuldig, are you awake?"

Brad must have noticed me fidgeting. "Yeah, mostly." I scrounged for a bottle of water and something for the pain. Between the beating my mind had taken and the physical damage, I hurt all over. My shoulder burned. Dimly I recalled careful hands cleaning the bullet track and fastening bandages across it; I was pretty sure Far had done the doctoring. Somewhere along the line I'd managed to change clothes, too: my knees ached, but at least they weren't wrapped in muddy denim anymore. I still couldn't figure out how long I'd been sleeping.

"Were you listening?"

Far turned his head slightly, peeking at me across the bridge of his nose. "Aye, I think he was, Crawford."

Brad made eye contact with me through the mirror. "Your position?"

"Underneath Nagi, at the moment," I mumbled, trying to get a little more comfortable without disturbing the kid. For all I knew, he was only sleeping now. Moving carefully, I propped Nagi against his door and made sure his seatbelt was secure. Then I met Brad's reflected gaze again. "You mean about the clusterfuck?"

Brad scowled. "Yeah, that."

I sighed and tried to think. Far clearly believed that Brad had not betrayed us. Was that enough?

No. I couldn't allow it to be enough. It simply wasn't protocol to accept without making my own decision. Though we no longer followed Esset's rules, the team's survival still hinged upon my assessment of our leader. It was my duty as Brad's second, and as the team telepath, whether we were Esset or free agents. I cleared my throat. "Let your shields down."

"Farfarello, can you drive a while?"

"Aye." The Irishman gave me a bland glance, neither approving nor disapproving of my request.

Brad pulled off the road and traded seats with Far. The Irishman moved quickly in spite of the splint. He'd changed it out for something less bulky, but his ease of motion still astounded me. The man could take enough damage to pulverize a rhino and just walk away from it – usually after returning the favor tenfold on his enemy.

As we aimed for the highway again, Brad handed me his gun, then tilted his seat back as far as it would go. He removed his glasses, folding them over the collar of his shirt, then visibly forced himself to relax. I could tell that he really didn't want to do this now, before reaching some sort of safety, but he knew I could not let him choose the time. Truth-scans are a delicate business, if you didn't want to hurt the subject, and Brad wasn't going to make me force him.

I rested my hands on his shoulders, my thumbs lying against the bared skin of his neck. Physical contact helped bring me into synch with him faster. His pulse echoed against my fingers, pulled mine into the same strong rhythm. Strong, and angry. Angry, and frightened. Frightened, and…

Beneath the surface layers of emotion, Brad's thoughts blazed loudly, writhing with doubt and a gut-wrenching sense of guilt. The guilt seemed to have its roots far in the past, shadowed and deep; not relevant to this day. The doubt, however, was fresh. It screamed and twisted, angry and hot and virulent. It was this that had lashed out at me in the rain, and if Brad weren't careful it would be this that would become his undoing.

And he knew it.

::I fucked up, Schuldig. But I did not betray the team.:: Brad relaxed into the contact and allowed me to see the events through his eyes. He'd been concerned about me – this thread pulled away from my touch, huddled in darkness. An answering echo in me warned against pursuing it just yet, so I let it pass. He'd sought a place where the team could, indeed, rest in safety for a few days. And his visions had led him there, as clearly as though the road had been lined with signs for our benefit.

Brad's hindsight painted the betrayal with neon-bright disgust. _::I should have known, I should have sensed the trap. It was too easy, too clear, too perfect. I had come to want to find such a place, and such a place had been made ready to receive us, and I had never doubted it for a second. If it weren't for Farfarello, we would all be dead, and not by any hand but mine.::_

The image of myself locked in helpless futility with Nagi roared through Brad's mind. Hot upon its heels came Brad's own decision. _::Almost out of ammunition, damn it! Wait, Schuldig never drew his gun…trusting this thing is fully loaded, no time to check. Have to keep two shots in reserve. At the very least one, please if there is a god let me have two shots left…::_

Slowly, gently, as though withdrawing from sex, I disentangled myself from him. His emotions clung to me, wringing tears from my eyes. Brad would have shot me and Nagi with a single round, gambling that Nagi would allow it, and gambling that he would have one bullet left for himself, rather than allow Esset to take us.

His voice rough, Brad whispered, "Those operatives weren't there to kill us. They were retrieval units. I recognized their strategy when they started moving."

I leaned over him in as much of an embrace as I could manage around the car seat.

Strong arms encircled my shoulders in return. "I won't let them take you, any of you. I'd kill you myself before I'd ever allow that to happen."

A fey corner of my mind offered up a prayer that Brad Crawford should always have at least three bullets, and perfect aim.

I sat back and tried to compose myself. The headache gnawed at me, though the pain meds had blunted its bite.

Brad glanced up at me and offered me a little smile. His eyes looked like windows into Hell. "We'll get through this," he murmured, his hand lifting to touch my cheek.

I leaned into the caress, wishing we were anywhere else but here.

"Before you ask it," Brad said, "Nagi will be waking up in the next few hours. Make sure he eats something." The last word came out on a yawn. Beneath my hands, I could feel his muscles going slack with exhaustion.

"I will. You get some sleep. I've got your back, Brad."

His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as though fashioning a lifeline out of silk. Only when he had that lifeline did he allow sleep to pull him under.

* * *

A/N:

"_I did nothing__ – except get caught with my britches down."_

Captain Kirk – "Star Trek II – the Wrath of Khan"

The worst betrayal comes from the enemy closest to one's heart. In this case, Brad's own precognition has been turned against him: all of Konnor's trial runs with the "mice" have culminated in this one event.

Basically, Esset just threw doubles; can Brad get himself and the rest of his team back off the bar before Esset makes a clean sweep of it? That's the problem with backgammon: sometimes the dice favor the other guy.


	87. 87

**87**

_Ach, und könnt ich doch nur ein einz'ges Mal, die Uhren rückwärts dreh'n…_

We drove in silence, neither Far nor I feeling the need to clutter the minutes with conversation. Sunrise colors glowed around us, etching the mountaintops in sharp relief against the retreating night. The rain had stayed on the northern face of the Carpathians, unwilling to follow us across. Apparently it, too, had grown weary.

I watched our sleeping teammates, my attention drifting from one to the other. Brad looked as though he were recovering from a long illness, eyes shadowed and bruised. Nagi looked like a kid who'd worn himself out at play.

Behind those sleeping eyes, so many things I could not understand.

The gradual cessation of movement brought me awake. I yawned sheepishly; I hadn't even realized I'd dozed off.

"Oi, Schuldig," Far murmured, parking the car a safe distance off the highway, "I'm calling a piss stop. Can you take a turn driving?"

"No problem." I unfastened my seat belt and reached for my door as Farfarello opened his with a loud squeal of muddy hinges.

In front of me, Brad jerked awake with a shout. He flailed one arm as though warding off a blow, smashing his hand against the window with a sharp crack before clawing at his seat belt. The shoulder strap caught in the mechanism, locking in place as he yanked on it. As though moving by sheer instinct, his other hand managed to hit the belt release. Before the belt had time to fully retract, Brad grabbed the door handle and hauled it open, shoving his way out of the car with such violence that the door bounced back on its hinge and struck him hard in the side before swinging docilely shut in his wake.

"Ah, shit!" Hampered by his car seat in my lap, I struggled to get to him.

Beside me, a sudden change in pressure made my ears pop as static swarmed over my skin. Nagi had woken at the noise, and his power had gone into full defense mode. His eyes glowed dark indigo, and his fine hair floated about his head like a black halo.

"Stand down, kid!" I barked the order without thinking. "Wait here, I'll be right back!" I shoved the seat back upright, wrenched open my door, and sprinted after Brad on shaky legs.

He'd staggered several meters away from the car before collapsing to his knees, one hand braced against the dirt, the other wrapped around his midsection. Strands of vomit-tinged spit hung from his lips.

A small gleam caught my attention. His glasses had fallen in the weeds during his frantic flight. Reflexively I picked them up and checked for damage. They were scratched; I couldn't tell if the damage were new or old. Clutching his glasses like a talisman, I approached Brad with slow caution. ::Brad? Can you hear me? It's me, your beacon. See? Godawful red, right here.:: I wasn't getting through. His shields flared, pushing me away. Reflected on those shields I saw a cruel, proud face with piercing blue eyes. The image rippled and faded away like smoke.

Brad looked up, staring into the middle distance and not seeing me at all. _"Que horas são?"_

I glanced back at the car, whether for support or just to make sure I didn't have more than one crisis to worry about I couldn't say. Farfarello stood watch beside the front door, his weight balanced on his good leg and a throwing knife held lightly in one hand. Nagi had exited on the other side and watched us with dark and empty eyes.

Turning my attention back to Brad, I took a step closer to him, hands outstretched in what I hoped was a non-threatening gesture. ::Brad?:: No good. My head started to ache from the pressure of his shields. "Brad?" I had to get this sorted out, and fast. If he'd been attacked, that would spell disaster, but if this were solely from within him, that didn't bode well either. To make matters worse, at the edges of my thoughts I could hear Nagi's power whirring and growing like an overwrought electric transformer.

Brad coughed, spat, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He groped at his shirt collar for his glasses, found nothing, winced. "Schuldig," he rasped, looking toward me but probably not seeing any more than an orange-topped blur. "What time is it?"

I glanced down at my watch. "Seven fifteen, give or take a few. I have your glasses. You okay?"

From behind me, Far stated, "We're in Romania." I could hear him moving around the car, then he headed for the heavier brush a little distance away to relieve himself.

For a moment I found myself staring at his back as he tended such a simple, normal event. My mind still reeled from unresolved worry. I felt as though I couldn't catch my balance.

Soft footsteps approached, then passed. Nagi paused beside Brad and handed him a bottle of water before continuing on to tend his own business a fair distance away from Farfarello.

Brad _had_ predicted the kid would wake up about this time. Had Brad caused him to wake? The interconnectedness of events still boggled my mind. That was a discussion better suited to Farfarello on a good day, and yet it was something Brad Crawford lived with in every hour of his life. I reached Brad's side and helped him stand, then offered him his glasses.

He frowned at them, gave them a half-hearted wipe on his sleeve, put them on. He regarded the foul puddle in the dirt and grimaced. Moving cautiously as though he might have to vomit again, he guided me a few steps away from the mess. He paused to rinse his mouth again, spitting the water behind us, then sipped a little. It stayed down, so he drank some more before trying to speak. When he did speak, his voice sounded frayed, rough with weariness and pain. "Schuldig, things have changed. I know what we have to do now."

"Dream, or vision? Or just working it out? What happened, Brad?" I asked these things, fairly certain I wouldn't get a satisfying answer to any of them. "You scared the crap out of me, you know. And Nagi."

"Just a nightmare," he replied. "Then, things fell into place. Finally. And I understand something now that I should have figured out ages ago. About Konnor." Brad seemed to shudder, a brief, hard twitch, before continuing. "Schoenberg. He's an object reader, Schuldig. And he knows me almost as well as you do. Has known, for some time." His eyes darkened, shutting me out.

"Well, yeah, we knew he'd be trouble," I muttered. I had the sudden awful feeling that there was much more to this than Brad would ever tell me, and I wondered if I dared to ask.

"More than trouble." Brad's gaze met mine, and for one moment I saw pain and humiliation and soul-numbing grief etched there. "He is obsessed with finding me, and I have Seen him take the field. He's coming."

"Shit." Absently I noted Nagi and Farfarello returning to the car, the latter watching us closely.

"We have to split up." Brad raised his hand to silence my immediate reaction. "Just listen. We don't have much time. I don't want to split the team, but we have to foul the trail. We have to double back to places we've been before, places that hold enough resonance of us that he will lose our scent. It shouldn't take long to throw him off, but we must act fast. If he gets too close, it's over. And," he added with a thoughtful frown, "I have to take Nagi with me."

"No. Brad, no! That's insane!" I hissed. "The kid's fried, Far's injured, I'm fucking exhausted, and you're –"

"I'm the one he's after."

"Then you can't go with Nagi!"

Brad gripped my arms hard enough to hurt. "Neither can you. I can't explain it, you'll just have to trust me. I can't send Nagi with you, and I can't send him with Farfarello."

"What about that weird thing he did, with the snow?" I asked, hoping Brad would see the sense of my dismay. "His power's changing, Brad. We need to know more, he's not safe like this."

"I know, and that's why I can't send him with you." Brad shook his head, then said, "Come on. Make use of the stop. I want to get back on the road. I'll explain as much as I can, fair enough?"

I sighed and followed him to the heavier weeds. Though I'd been drinking bottled water like a fish, I could barely go. Everything felt slightly wrong, the way it does when getting over a case of the flu. Then again, I'd been sleeping a lot; maybe I hadn't taken in as much water as I'd thought. Or just maybe it was difficult to tend to one's business while carrying on a telepathic discussion. I frowned in split concentration.

::Schuldig, my Sight may have led us astray, but there are some things I can wholly trust in spite of that. I've always been a strategist; that's not something the mice can affect. Take Farfarello and vanish into our past haunts for three weeks – that's all we need. Weave a confounding trail, and I shall do the same, and then we wait. I'm going on logic now, not visions. I want you to meet me in Sicily at the end of that three week period. The same airport we used for Esset business. Will you do this?:: Brad glanced at me, and for a moment his eyes seemed more alive than they had in weeks.

Alive, and filled with hope.

::I will,:: I replied before I'd even decided to do so. ::Three weeks.::

::Don't worry about Nagi, I'll work with him, figure out what's going on with his power,:: Brad told me as we headed back toward the car. ::And if you deem Farfarello in need of medical care, you know a number of safe places you can take him.::

My eyes widened. The only places I knew of like that…were in Japan.

Brad's eyes showed no surprise, only that steady calm fire. "You've known what you have to do. Now you know why."

* * *

A/N:

_Ach, und könnt ich doch nur ein einz'ges Mal, die Uhren rückwärts dreh'n…_

Ah, if only once I could set the clocks backwards…

"Kein Zurück" – Wolfsheim _Casting Shadows_

Yes, there is a strong echo of chapter 77 here. This time, it's not a choice, it's an order. One which Brad cannot explain in enough detail to ease Schuldig's worries. There are things in Brad's past which he is keeping from Schuldig, and they both know this. Some of them are tearing him apart, in these rare vulnerable moments.

And some keep him strong.

The deepest secrets…do both.

(For those not reading the other stories in this arc: Konnor is General Konrad Schoenberg, Brad's one-time mentor at Rosenkreuz. The proud face and blue eyes belong to him.)


	88. 88

**88**

_We are half destroyed and paranoid  
And fearing what might be_

I did not want to be here. Not like this.

I hitched the hotel towel tighter around my middle and peeked out the window. Colorful maples and other trees I didn't know the names of bowed and dropped leaves in the wind. We'd only been in this country for two days, and things had already gone to shit.

And somewhere out there, Farfarello hunted. He'd waited until I was in the shower today before slipping out of the room, leaving only a cryptic note behind. "He is my destiny. I will not involve you before the time is come. Go in peace and be safe."

Two minutes ago I'd come out of the bathroom and found my friend gone, the scrap of paper precisely folded upon my pillow. One minute ago I'd stopped mentally screaming and decided to deal with this calmly.

The car keys still sat where they had been. Nothing of mine had been moved. Nothing of Farfarello's remained behind.

Was this what Brad had Seen? Had he wanted this to happen?

I sighed, coughed a bit. Debated having a smoke, decided I'd abused my lungs enough with canned airline and hotel air lately. All I really wanted was sleep, and that was the one thing I could not have. There was no way I could stay here and allow Far to do whatever he had in mind. And I had a pretty good idea what that involved.

Another five minutes and I was back in the car, heading toward a neighborhood I'd never thought to see again. I hadn't intended to seek him out, I'd almost come to terms with the idea that Yohji would not be a part of my life. Now I couldn't stop wondering what I would find when I got there.

And I couldn't stop wondering if this was what Brad had planned all along. The hints, the gentle pushing, the not-so-subtle shoving out the door.

Would Yohji be waiting to hand me over to Kritiker?

Lips set in a grimace, I drove fast and hard, knowing only that I had to get there before Far could even get close. I tried calculating bus and train speeds, stopovers, things like that, but quickly gave up. My only hope was to haul ass as best I could and pray it was enough.

What if Far located his quarry, and found Yohji there with him?

Traffic parted ahead of me, closed obediently behind as I hurtled past. Blue-white flashes of pain sparkled behind my eyes, but I knew I dare not give in. Speed was my only ally at this point, and for that I was willing to sacrifice a little bit of comfort.

I tried not to think about what I would find if I arrived too late.

Minutes, kilometers, hours, heartbeats later I parked down the block from a familiar apartment building. I couldn't tell from the street if the corner flat were occupied or vacant: the shades were drawn and no light seeped through.

On shaky legs I hurried up the stairs until I stood before the door that had come to symbolize safety in my heart.

I knocked.

Breathless from exertion and from worry, I felt myself grow lightheaded. I leaned heavily against the door frame.

The door opened.

Yohji stood there, a cigarette dangling from his lip and his eyes widening in startled recognition. A flurry of emotions crossed his face before settling into a surprised smile. "Hey, stranger!"

I swallowed against my own sudden rush of conflict. "Hey yourself. Can I come in?"

"Sure. You okay?" His eyes looked hooded, guarded, as though he, too, were worried this evening.

Had something already happened? Memory of the past months rolled through me, swirling around like leaves in the gale, culminating in an image of the Berserker in all his primal glory. I stumbled, allowed Yohji to hold me up a moment as I clung to him and tried to catch my breath. "No," I gasped, "I'm not okay. He's here, in Japan. You have to warn your friend!"

"Whoa, who's here?" Yohji asked, glaring into my eyes as though interrogating a distraught witness. "Say again, what's wrong?"

"Farfarello," I breathed. "He, oh gods, Yohji…" I couldn't push the memory away. As surely as though Nagi were pulling me down again, I felt myself falling into the slaughter at Bald Mountain. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't stop any of it." And, for the first time since the ambush, I felt all the panic and the sorrow and the dread of it. For the first time, I had a safe place to process all the hellish things I'd been witness to, and I clung to Yohji for dear life. No fist fights, no brassy coolness, no pretending nothing had changed – my control shattered, taking me with it.

For one brief moment I wondered if we were truly alone here, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to care. Sanity trembled under the force of memory, washed through me in a flood of salt rain. I'd spent the last decade pretending to be a man, a cold, harsh man who could kill without remorse; all of that broke into a cascade of tears. Here, in this one last refuge, all the fears and sorrows of the child I'd once been poured into me and through and left me gasping.

When I could move again, Yohji ushered me to the sofa and eased me down. He folded his long legs under him and sat beside me, gazing into my eyes as though searching for the last shred of humanity there. I hoped he might find it for me, as I felt I'd left it behind somewhere in Poland.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, the worry still sharp in his eyes.

"Farfarello happened," I replied, my voice breaking into a hoarse croak. "You have to warn your friend, Yohji. Farfarello is looking for him. Right now."

"Ken can take care of himself," Yohji said, his tone a little harsh.

"You don't understand," I told him, my momentary lapse quickly turning into that well-drilled calm of a team second. "We were ambushed, Yohji. They led us into a trap, but they thought they could handle Farfarello. They were wrong. I watched him tear through a dozen men like they were paper. He saved us, but now he's back on that damn antichrist kick." I fumbled in my pocket, pulled out the note. "Here."

Yohji frowned at it, and for a moment I tried to remember if I'd ever seen him read English. Then he sighed. "All right, let me make a call." Still holding the note, he got up and strode toward the chair by the window. His cell phone lay on the armrest. Yohji began dialing, frowned, and started over. "Oi, otooto! Hai, Yohji des'!" The rest of his words vanished in a blur, my grasp of the less-formal forms of Japanese eluding me neatly. I caught "Ken-kun" in there a couple of times, but without locking into Yohji's mind I couldn't get the entire conversation. That was all right, so long as he was delivering my warning. That's all I'd come here for.

"_You've known what you have to do. Now you know why."_

Suddenly I knew who Yohji was talking to. I scrambled for a pencil, a pen, anything to write with. Finding a pen but no paper, I wrote on the palm of my hand and held it up for Yohji to see:

T E L L H I M .

* * *

A/N:

_We are half destroyed and paranoid  
And fearing what might be_

"We Could Have Flown Like Pollen" – ThouShaltNot _The White Beyond_

I get the feeling Farfarello was only biding his time before making another pilgrimage to Japan. The fact that he did so now with Crawford's blessing…well, I wouldn't want to be the one to tell him that it might not be ordained. Which side Far serves in his own personal Apocalypse is still open to speculation.

**And a Special Note:**

Leia A., if you are still reading…a little bird told me that somewhere a friend is wishing you all the happiness in the world and asking absolutely nothing in return. Peace and joy be with you all of your days, just because.


	89. 89

**89**

_Lost unto a forlorn hope  
And made up in mystery_

Yohji frowned at me, then quickly concluded his call.

My eyes burned with anger, frustration, and fear. If contacting Kritiker hadn't been Crawford's intention, then what the hell was I doing in Japan? "You didn't tell him."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Yohji asked, rubbing at his temple. "I am not Kritiker. I don't plan on ever going back. I sent the warning for Ken's sake, as a friend. I thought the last thing you wanted was for them to know."

I sighed, trying to fathom the unfathomable. _Brad Crawford, Oracle, man of vision and of Visions – what the fuck were you trying to tell me?_ No matter how hard I tried to put it all together, it refused to make sense. If Brad didn't want me to go over to Kritiker, with or without Farfarello, what _did_ he want? Surely it wasn't his way of giving me a safe hideout while he and Nagi scurried about like rats.

Wait a second – not rats: _mice_. This was still all about the mice.

"Yohji," I began, amazed at how calm my voice now sounded, "I need you to know something. I don't know if this affects Kritiker, but if it does, the world could be in for a great deal of hurt."

Yohji scowled. "Kritiker has never been in the hero business."

I shook my head, unwilling to accept defeat now. The stakes were too high, and I felt that I finally understood Brad's mission. Something in his manner after that ambush, some subtle change, had touched me on a level I never anticipated. If I were in a poetic mood, I might compare it to a knight receiving his orders for a holy quest, but at the moment I could only accept it and act on it. "Schwarz must not fall with no one knowing what we were up against. It doesn't matter if we live or die, all men die –" my throat closed up on that statement as though sensing the truth in it "– but a few have the chance to make a difference first. Esset did not die at the tower. The new masters are just as lethal as the last, perhaps more so, and they are building a new generation of supermen to take our place. Rumor had Kritiker as the acting watchdog for such things. I implore you, Yohji: tell them everything." I took a deep breath, steeling myself for my next statement. "I'll turn myself in, if that's what it takes. I will not see Esset win at the cost of humanity."

Instead of speaking, Yohji just stared at me. He had that same disconnected look Nagi sometimes got, when his ears and his logic disagreed over something he'd just heard. He swallowed, his expression a mix of pain and admiration. Then he shook his head. "No. I won't allow you to surrender. Your team needs you. Even I can see that." He set his finger across my lips before I could argue. "You look exhausted. Let me think on this, figure out what to do next. Get some rest. You're safe here. You have my word on it." He hugged me, and I leaned into the embrace, allowing his warmth to flow into me like sunshine.

Yohji took the phone with him into the kitchen. I could hear him setting out pots and pans and running water, neatly covering his voice as he made another call.

Unable to maintain my false energy, I slumped down on the sofa and dozed. It surprised me how weary I felt. It almost seemed as though Brad had become my reserve of strength, and being separated from him not only left my shields unstable but also left me feeling utterly drained.

"Hey," Yohji murmured, brushing his fingers across my forehead. "Food's ready. Extra octopus, just for you."

I smiled sleepily at him. "Consider it my gift to you, dear host. The octopus is all yours. How long was I out?"

"About half an hour."

Damn. Usually a nap left me feeling better, not worse. I yawned and poured myself off the sofa, then followed him to the kitchen.

The phone lay on the counter beside the microwave.

I debated asking him about it, demanding details or begging for confirmation, but I kept silent. He'd tell me what he needed me to know, and that was the way it should be.

Instead, I picked my way through the bowl of noodles, scowling at bits of unidentified meat.

Yohji grinned. "It's pork."

I smiled back at him. "Ah. Good. You know how I get about those weird things."

"Octopus isn't weird. It's food."

"Yeah, if you're a dolphin."

Yohji chuckled, and for one moment I allowed myself to forget about the warnings and the phone calls and everything.

Then I bowed my head and accepted reality again. I glanced quizzically at Yohji and asked, "So what happens next?"

"What do you mean?" He scowled slightly, then said, "No one's coming to pick you up, if that's what you're asking. I told you, I'm not turning you over to them."

I reached across the table and caught hold of his hand. "Thanks."

"I passed along your warning. It's enough." Yohji squeezed my hand, then rose and cleared the table. "How long are you in town for?"

I almost blurted out "three weeks", but caught myself before any sound came out. "Until I find Farfarello, most likely. Unless something else happens."

This time Yohji frowned, his expression grim. "If you can find him, can they find him too?"

"I hope to hell not," I replied, my heart clenching at the thought. I'd managed to avoid considering that possibility: the idea of my dear mad friend being captured ripped my sense of safety apart. "If that's the case, I hope he stays hidden from all of us." There, I'd said it, and that made it real: I had to acknowledge the chance that Far had said his goodbyes forever, for whatever crazed destiny he thought he was serving. I swallowed down the sorrow and murmured, "I don't know which is worse, the thought of him being out there alone somewhere, hunting in the name of Armageddon, or Esset getting hold of him again."

"From what you said earlier, it would be more a matter of him getting hold of Esset," Yohji reminded me, a dark smirk lingering upon his lips. "He'll be all right. It's the rest of us who should be worried."

We returned to the living room, where Yohji lit his water pipe and I smoked half a cigarette before discarding it with a sullen cough. Music and hashish wove a protective blur around my mind, allowing me to relax behind my shields for a few precious minutes. How long _did_ I intend to stay here, in Japan or in this apartment? Again I had that feeling that somehow this was what Brad had planned, that I should simply wait here for Kritiker to approach me.

When had I ever really understood Brad's plans?

"You all right? You look a little pale," Yohji murmured, sitting down beside me.

"Just worried," I told him, resting my head against his shoulder. I closed my eyes, recalling the brief, powerful intimacy we'd once shared, and wondering what, exactly, it had meant for either of us. That I trusted Yohji was without question, and I knew that trust was returned. Truth be told, I hadn't expected to feel quite so content like this. I had missed him, or rather, I'd missed the easy sensuality of the man. I hadn't really paused to think about why. But now, I leaned against Yohji and reveled in the warmth of him. He was all the things that Brad was not, and that was both right and so very wrong. I craved the normalcy of Yohji even as I found myself growing profoundly homesick for my team.

What did I want from this man?

Yohji tilted my chin up and kissed me softly on the lips. "I know you've got it rough, but you really need to take better care of yourself," he chided gently.

"Why won't you give me to Kritiker?" I asked, suddenly wondering at his reluctance. If he was so concerned, why wouldn't he set me up in a safe place, such as in their care?

Yohji looked away and sighed. "Because…I just can't, that's why. Don't ask. You can stay here as long as you have to. I'll make sure you have good food and a decent night's sleep, and if your friend turns up I'll tell you where to find him." With that, Yohji got up and headed for his bedroom.

Puzzled, I started to follow him. I couldn't understand why he'd be acting so odd, unless… I stopped in my tracks. No wonder he wanted to send me back to my team rather than send me to Kritiker. I would only be in the way here.

"Is it anyone I know?" I heard myself asking, and immediately wished I could take the words back. They sounded hollow and bitchy and not at all the way I felt, which was oddly and deeply hurt.

"What?" Yohji turned to look at me, his expression baffled.

"I was wondering why you're acting distant," I went on, unable to stop. "I won't intrude, Yohji. And I thank you for letting me stay here. I'll be out of your way soon, I promise."

Yohji closed the gap between us in two strides. "Baka," he whispered, pulling me to him and pressing his lips to mine.

It took me a few seconds to register what had just happened, and in that time he'd gently released me and stepped back to look into my eyes.

"Baka gaijin," he murmured through a crooked smile. "That's not why. There isn't anyone else, hasn't been for a long time." His eyes turned serious as he said, "I just can't give you over to them. There is no safe haven for you in Kritiker. You warned me before, that Esset would go after them? It's happened. I don't know how deep they've gotten, or what they've found out, but I do know that the moment your identity is known, you are compromised. And I'd rather die than allow that to happen."

A/N: 

_Lost unto a forlorn hope  
And made up in mystery_

"We Could Have Flown Like Pollen" – ThouShaltNot _The White Beyond_

Again Schuldig faces the difficult challenge of trying to second-guess Brad Crawford. Not an easy pastime, full of paradox and hidden meanings. And you just know that, for every wrong answer Schuldig gets, Brad gloats, just a little.

Almost makes you feel sorry for Konnor, doesn't it?

As for Yohji's behavior…yes, I noticed it too.


	90. 90

90

**90**

_You can trust your heart to make you weak  
And break down your fear of safety_

Sunlight slanted past the blinds, danced across my eyelids until I woke up. Uneasy dreams spun into wakefulness in a wash of terror: _where the fuck was I?_ This wasn't the hotel; it sure as hell wasn't a car.

Then I recognized the sleeping form beside me, honey-dappled hair falling soft across his pillow.

That's right, I'd lain down while Yohji secured his apartment for the night, and I must have dozed off before he'd come to bed. I took several deep breaths, willing myself to calm. I was somewhere relatively safe for the first time in months, and it had freaked me out. This couldn't be a good sign.

Silently I got up and padded to the bathroom. I debated showering, but didn't want to make too much noise this early; Yohji would probably be sleeping for a few more hours, and I didn't feel petty enough to wake him.

I settled for washing my face and running a wet comb through my hair. Though I'd stopped coloring it, the texture still felt wrong to me – it seemed too brittle lately. I snarled at my reflection as the comb peeled even more strands into its teeth. Yohji kept quality hair-care products for himself; I'd have to make use of them later.

As I smoothed my hair back into place, I noticed something that made me gape stupidly at the mirror. I leaned closer, reached up, separated the russet mess by my left temple.

White gleamed among the red, bright and unmistakable.

I knew it was silly of me, but I muttered a curse at this first inexorable sign of age. Not like I'd been under a lot of stress lately, or any of a dozen other good reasons my hair might have for turning traitor like this – I still took personal affront. For a moment I debated yanking it out, but then superstition cautioned against it. If I pulled one, might a dozen spring up instead?

With a resigned sigh I combed my hair back down, then fluffed it with my hands. I chided myself for being so damn upset. After all, Brad already had notions of gray, and it only made him more handsome.

Then again, he was older than me.

I returned to the bedroom, quietly unpacked clothes for the day and dressed, all the while torn between frustration at myself and envy at Yohji's peaceful slumber. At least he was getting some decent sleep; he'd come to bed some time after I'd fallen asleep, I could only guess how late that might have been.

Moving quietly, I made my way to the kitchen. I wanted some coffee in my blood before I turned on the television to see if there had been any disasters during the night. Odds were good that, if Farfarello had gone hunting, his trail would be all over the morning news, and I had to admit I wasn't quite ready to find out just yet.

Coffee maker, beans, grinder, filters, and water: all the makings for breakfast's first course lay within easy reach. I assembled the necessary components with steady determination, then turned my attention to the refrigerator. The expected array of leftovers made me chuckle; I'd been that bad myself once upon a time, though I'd never cultivated the discipline needed to actually eat them before they turned nasty.

Finding nothing that struck my fancy, I turned to the pantry. When in doubt, Pocky and coffee made a damn fine meal. I grabbed an orange to complete my feast, then searched for a mug.

I paused, the cabinet door open, glasses and mugs reflecting the kitchen light. How quickly I'd gotten used to sharing his home. Again. Always.

Leaving…wouldn't be easy.

Frowning, I set the mug on the counter and left the coffee maker to its work. I put the orange in a bowl, tossed in the Pocky, and took the whole lot into the living room. The television remote was right where it should be, adding to that feeling of sublime familiarity. I keyed the buttons and hit the mute before curling up on the sofa with my breakfast.

I picked at the orange peel as I watched the news program. The television blathered on in silence, people's lips moving and faces showing no sign of distress, except in regard to the weather forecast. This coming weekend would be a bad one for the golfers, judging by the little film clip and quick segue to the regional radar. I shook my head. Never had been very fond of golf.

From the kitchen came the sound of the coffee maker finishing its cycle in a loud, rattling belch.

I switched the television back off and returned to the kitchen, setting the bowl down so I could claim my prize of hot caffeine. After a first cautious sip, I parked myself at the kitchen counter and slumped over the steaming mug, letting the fragrant warmth caress my face. The steam picked up the scent of orange peel from my fingers and wafted it skyward; this was better than a shower any day.

The smile snuck up on me before I realized it, and I laughed softly. I'd never had my own apartment, or made a home with a lover. Those things belonged to another world, one I had never been invited to share. And yet here I was, playing the part as though I had always been here.

For the first time in my life, I felt normal.

That nagging little voice in my head reminded me that this was borrowed time, if not stolen, and the price could be steep. I ignored it. I'd already learned all its lessons, the lessons of duty and obligation; I wasn't about to forget them any time soon. But right now, for this moment, I was my own man, and it felt damn good.

I took my time peeling the orange, and when I discovered it was the kind without seeds I devoured the slices ravenously. Juice clung to my lips and chin, and stained my fingernails; it also notified me of a small cut on one finger, the acid burn making me flinch and raise said digit to my mouth. Only after finishing off the fruit did I give my hands a proper washing.

Leaning back from the sink, I stretched, feeling the bones in my back creak and shift. The sensations settled into a dull ache in my right shoulder, reminding me of my first night in this apartment. So much had changed, and yet so much had been established in that short time.

Brad had known. He had basically sent me back here, more than once. What did he expect me to do?

What did he want me to do?

I refilled my cup, tore open the Pocky, then carried them both back to the living room. Absently I gnawed at a chocolate-covered cookie stick, giving silent praise to the Japanese for their snack foods. This stuff was infinitely addictive, and it went damn fine with fresh oranges and coffee.

It had been the first of the local fare I'd acquired a taste for, and Brad had always made certain there was a box stashed somewhere in our apartment.

Why did it keep coming down to a comparison between Brad and Yohji in my mind? Why did I insist on trying to second-guess the impossible? I wandered through Yohji's apartment, a Pocky stick clenched in my teeth like a designer cigarette while I pondered the impenetrable logic of Brad Crawford. More than once I had touched Brad's mind: there was no way he'd willingly give me over to another man. He had a jealous streak that would keep me under his thumb forever, given the chance. Underneath all the posturing of an Esset team commander, something in Brad wanted me to be his alone.

Was that the same something that kept pushing me away?

Again, I was no closer to wisdom for the asking. "Damn it."

"You okay?"

Badly startled, I jumped, bit through the Pocky stick, watched half of it fall to the floor to land in front of a pair of bare feet.

Yohji leaned against the wall, watching me; he wore only a pair of jeans and his watch.

"How long have you been there?" I blurted, picking up the lost cookie and chiding myself for being so damn jumpy before congratulating myself for not spilling any coffee.

He shrugged. "Couple of minutes. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, just trying to puzzle some things out. Checked the news, so far so good." I caught the pun as I said it, tried not to snicker. "You're up early, for you."

"Couldn't sleep any more, figured I may as well get some breakfast. I know a place that has a great take-out menu, what do you say to a picnic brunch?"

I didn't miss the subtle relaxing of his muscles, or the movement of his right hand away from his watch. He'd noticed I was missing from his bed, and grown worried. To lighten the mood, I smirked and said, "What, you're not going to cook noodles for me?"

Yohji laughed. "They have noodles there. And Western-style foods – they do a mean California omelet." He took a step toward me, liberated my coffee mug, took a swig. "I was thinking we could drive around and look for your friend. I used to get paid to find people, you know."

I chuckled. "I'm broke."

Yohji's eyes sparkled with mischief as he gathered me into his arms. "That's all right," he murmured against my ear, "you can pay it off like a divorcee in a noir movie."

The last bit of tension popped like a soap bubble. "You cad!" I pounded lightly on his chest. "Taking advantage of your clients like that! I should report you, to…to…who the hell would I report you to, anyway?"

Instead of keeping on with the banter, Yohji just looked into my eyes, drawing me into a gentle stillness for the moment. "I'll help you find him, if I can. Before anything happens."

I nodded, grateful for his understanding. Then I frowned. "You know, he's usually nocturnal when he's on the hunt."

"That means there's a chance he'll be holed up somewhere to sleep."

"Good point." Though I had to admit to myself I had no idea where he might go to ground. Then again, this could be a good thing – if I couldn't find him easily, neither could anyone else.

Yohji finished dressing and stashed my gear in his closet safe. I turned off the coffee maker and checked my gun. No way in hell would I go after Farfarello unarmed. Friend he may be, but those make the most dangerous adversaries.

Yohji joined me in the living room, paused to tug his pants leg over a small gun holstered against his calf. I was pretty sure the gesture was so I'd know he was armed. "Ready?"

I followed Yohji to the door, mindful of the spiderweb of wire sealing the apartment. His habit of booby-trapping his home reminded me of Brad, right after this whole mess began. I wondered how long he'd been doing that, if it was something he'd picked up years ago or a recent affectation. I also wondered if he'd ever caught anyone.

Then I remembered that he hadn't used the wire that first night I'd broken in, hurt and desperate. If he had, I would have been in more trouble than I could have imagined. This was no token alarm he'd rigged up now: these wires meant business. Garrote wire at ankle and neck height, razor wire at odd intervals in between. If anyone had tried to break in during the night, at the very least they'd have ended up in a hospital.

When done, Yohji opened the door and checked to see if anyone were on the stairs or in the hallway. Pronouncing it safe, he told me, "Okay, go on out, I'll be done in a second." As I stepped into the outer hallway, Yohji drew some wire from his watch. He carefully ran the wire up the inner edge of the door, fastened at top and bottom like weather-stripping. He repeated this on the door frame, then laced a few strands between the two.

My sense of safety shuddered. Clearly he was worried that my presence might bring danger to his home, and so was I. "Yohji, are you sure –"

"You're worth it, _Shooga_."

"Sorry, don't know that one – what's 'shooga'?" I asked, following him down to the parking garage.

He gave me a crooked smile and said, "It means 'ginger'. I know it's a little lighter than your hair, but for some reason it seems to fit."

"Uh huh." I scowled. "That wouldn't be a reference to a certain American television show, would it? I'm not that spoiled!"

Yohji blinked, apparently perplexed. "It just seemed rude to call you _Akage_, it's so generic."

As I got into the passenger seat of the Seven, Yohji set his driving shades in place and stated, "Lovey was spoiled. Ginger's the princess."

A/N:

_You can trust your heart to make you weak  
And break down your fear of safety_

"Dance Floor Metaphor" – The Crüxshadows _Frozen Embers_

Personally, I started going gray when I was in my late teens. So did Steve Martin. But for Schuldig, finding that first white hair was like a kick in the nuts. He'd finally managed to convince himself that this wasn't a vacation, he would be on the lam for the rest of his life, and in spite of this his team could miraculously escape anything – except time. He downplays Brad's gray hair, though he's noticed it before; funny thing about the gray, it can be hidden when you're in serious need of a haircut, then seem to sprout from nowhere once the trimming is done. Mine does that. Before I know it, it'll be silver-white, except where it's dyed something totally inappropriate.

But you know what? No matter what happens with Schuldig, Yohji will always think of him as his ginger-haired companion.

Pocky – a very tasty Japanese cookie snack: /s.html/102-1928954-0388941?ieUTF8&node3580501&indexgourmet&field-keywordspocky

_Shooga_ – ginger

_Akage_ – red-haired


	91. 91

91

**91**

_I came here with a load  
And it feels so much lighter, now I've met you_

Luckily for Yohji, the omelet was as good as he'd promised, and I'd forgiven him for the whole Gilligan thing by the third bite.

"Hey, you're the one who went there," he said between sips of coffee. "I really did mean the color."

I snickered a little in spite of myself. There were worse people to be named after, though it would take some time to get the images out of my head. "Well, if we do find Far and he gives us any trouble, remind me to tell him about that and we can jump him while he's laughing himself sick. He loved that show. Any of the dorky old comedies, he loved them. Everything but the Three Stooges." I took another bite, then said, "Of course, that could be because he thought he was living with them."

Yohji laughed and lit a cigarette. "I thought that was my problem."

I finished my breakfast and stuffed the empty carton back into the bag. Funny, I'd gotten so used to eating on the fly that this seemed like luxury in comparison. At least the car was parked, and the location chosen for its scenic beauty rather than any covert value.

That realization made me scowl. Here I was, sitting right out in the open, trusting this man beside me to have better luck than Crawford himself. I squinted up at the sun; birds flashed black in silhouette as they flung themselves skyward with a clatter of wings.

Yohji gently touched my shoulder. "Where did you go?"

I closed my eyes; jagged colors sparked across my lids from the inside. I blinked them open, let them water. "Just worried. So much shit has happened, Yohji. And it's never going to stop."

Green eyes watched me from behind low-perched shades. Blue-gray smoke curled up, caught in his hair, floated away.

"We were as good as dead." I took another sip of coffee, briefly coveted Yohji's smoke, decided against it. "They tricked Brad. Made him think it was safe." I shook my head, remembering the shock of his reaction, the lingering numbness of it all.

"You said Farfarello saved you, something about a dozen men dead? And Crawford had no warning of this?" Yohji frowned, a harsh and critical expression. "I'm sorry, but I find that a little hard to swallow."

"No, it's okay," I told him, "I had the same idea. I'd come to think of Brad as invincible, and it hurt like hell when I realized he's not. Scared the shit out of me. But he isn't a traitor to the team, either. I checked." For Yohji's benefit, I tapped my forehead and said, "I made him let me look. It's my duty as his second to watch for shit like that. He wasn't lying. He really was tricked."

"Damn."

"Son of a bitch is on our ass, and he wants to take us alive. Brad won't let that happen." I let out a harsh laugh and said, "Whatever you do, don't make any personal enemies in Esset. They get a real hard-on for revenge. Bastard taught Brad really well on that count."

"Wait, so this isn't about the Ani Museum thing?" Yohji stared, incredulous. "It's _personal_?"

"Yeah. Schoenberg is determined to bring us back alive, for whatever glory he thinks it'll bring him. Either that, or he just wants to mess Brad up for daring to defy him. He used to be our team liaison officer."

"Oh, shit, no wonder he's pissed! You guys must have made him look like he was in on it." Yohji shook his head, almost smiled. "I'm impressed. The way things sound, Crawford might have anticipated someone would shoot that guy on principle by now and everything would be over."

I snickered. "Yeah, that was probably the fall-back plan. As it turned out, though… Of course, we have no proof that it's actually him, but Brad's logic is pretty solid. And it's easier to have a scapegoat. We'll just blame everything on Schoenberg and take it from there. Problem is, the way Brad describes him, this guy really knows his stuff, and he's not afraid to improvise."

Yohji sighed, lit a fresh cigarette, watched it burn a few seconds before tasting it. "How much do you want to tell me about this? Remember, I used to be a detective, and…I used to be something else entirely. You know I can't guarantee that it'll stay just between the two of us. If you tell me something that affects a lot of innocent people…"

I put my hand on his arm, tilted my head so I could see him over my sunglasses. "It's okay. Like I said before, I don't want us to fall and leave no record of our fight. If you need to hand the information to someone else, just make sure your ass is covered, and don't leave me in the cold. There's more than just my life on the line, you know."

"I know." Yohji leaned back against the car door, tilting his face up to the sky. "How is the kid, anyway?"

Memory rose and cast an image in frost: small, frozen, unstoppable. "Nagi turned the sky to snow," I whispered, caught anew in the eerie poetry of that moment. "He freaked out, locked down when the trap was sprung. Fucking temperature dropped, just like that. I could see my breath, and then it started snowing." I caught Yohji's gaze around his own glasses and added, "This happened only a week ago."

"Can you tell me where?" I could tell by his voice that he was hoping I'd say Antarctica or something remotely logical.

"Poland. Weather just doesn't do shit like that. It was Nagi." I couldn't stand it anymore; I asked for one of his smokes. I took a cautious drag, let it out quickly before it could make me cough. "He thought we were going to abandon Farfarello, and he just flipped out. Far was trying to buy us time to escape, he wanted us to go, but Nagi refused to budge. Hell, he rooted himself to the damn spot. He wouldn't leave, and we couldn't leave without the kid."

"Like the time he leveled the Masafumi estate."

I swallowed hard. "Yeah. Like that. He wouldn't move, and he refused to do what we had to do that time. He wouldn't leave a teammate behind. You know I still feel like utter shit over that? We got back as soon as possible, but he'd already woken up and realized he was alone. He still hasn't forgiven us. Found that out the hard way."

Behind his shades, Yohji's eyes were tightly closed as he murmured, "Many things got broken that day. Things that should have been left the hell alone."

"And for Nagi, those wounds got ripped open again in Poland. God damn it."

"Well, you've seen him level a mansion and turn the grounds into a crater," Yohji observed calmly. "What exactly did he do this time? It sounds like your boy is learning new tricks."

"I don't know what the fuck he did," I grumbled, "it's like he goosed the atmosphere or something. It went from warm and sunny to windy, cloudy, and snowing within two minutes. And I couldn't physically move him. I tried, and ended up knocking myself on my ass. And through it all, Nagi watched as Farfarello carved a dozen highly-trained operatives into chum." I paused, sucked some nicotine, sipped some cold coffee. "That was the first time the kid ever saw Farfarello in total war mode. Before, we'd always kept Nagi out of the combat as much as possible. He'd seen quick strikes, single hits, but never a slaughter on this scale. It was a fucking bloodbath. I'm just grateful it was them and not us this time."

"You know, maybe they were right about those restrictions after all," Yohji mused. "Both times he's done something really off the scale, he's been distraught. That can't be easy to deal with. And I can't even imagine how terrible that fight must have been. Even if you're used to death, there's still a point of shock in something that violent."

I was so tempted to touch his mind and show him, but I restrained myself. That sort of thing was not good for one's sanity, and I really didn't want to re-live it myself, either. "Shock's the word I like for it. I hope we never have to see that again, from either of them."

"Hey." Yohji leaned toward me, set his hand on my shoulder. "Day's still young. What do you say to cruising around a bit, see if we find anything? Let me think about all this, turn on the detective brain and let it cook a while. You definitely need a break from the stress, and talking about it isn't helping you, is it?"

"No, it's not." I tossed my cigarette away and shifted a little closer to Yohji. "But thanks for listening."

He turned and kissed me quickly on the mouth, transferring his smile to my lips with gentle pressure. "Anytime, babe."

A/N

_I came here with a load  
And it feels so much lighter, now I've met you_

"Green Eyes" – Coldplay _A Rush of Blood to the Head_

And now the floodgates are open. Schuldig is entrusting Yohji with some very crucial information, information which wouldn't do much in the hands of Esset but which might mean everything to Kritiker. Is this what Crawford sent him here to do? Does it matter? Love and trust have made Schuldig so much stronger than he otherwise might have been. Maybe that was the intention all along.


	92. 92

**92**

_Dein Leben dreht sich nur im Kreis,_

_so voll von weggeworfener Zeit._

_Deine Träume schiebst Du endlos vor dir her..._

Evening found me nursing a sunburn in Yohji's bathtub. We'd driven around for hours with no sign of my questing teammate, or of his prey, for that matter. Yohji had kept a lookout for a familiar motorcycle just in case: "Ken's not supposed to be riding anymore, but that wouldn't necessarily stop him. Stubborn ass." We were both quite relieved to find neither of them on the streets – but then, that was daytime.

After dinner and some rest, we'd already planned to go out again and survey the city by night.

I lay back in the tub, wallowing in the soothing coolness. I had felt a little silly putting my hair up in a series of knots for the occasion, but neither I nor Yohji knew what the vinegar in the water might do to it, and I was not about to tempt fate. Bad enough it was turning colors on its own, like fall drifting towards winter. With my luck the vinegar would turn it green, which, while fashionable, was completely contrary to my nature.

The water felt good, an unfamiliar luxury in my increasingly mapless life. For a few minutes I indulged a fantasy that placed Yohji and me in a small flat in Amsterdam, living the artists' life though neither of us really qualified. The thought made me smile. We could have made it good, I was sure of that.

Then the thought occurred to me: what do we do when the fighting's over? Surely Brad had it in the works to put an end to it sooner or later! Nagi had already voiced his desire to see Esset buried in history; how could it not be possible?

If Brad found a way to take them down for good, to deliver a final stroke to the moving corpse that was Esset, what then?

What would happen to the team?

In theory, if Esset did not exist, neither would Schwarz. The team was part of Esset, no matter how far away we put ourselves. Could one survive without the other?

Then the darker thought came, squeezing tears from the corners of my eyes. Would Schwarz exist long enough to see this through? Already we had misplaced Farfarello, our fiercest warrior. What were we now, but three-fourths of a team?

Correction: Brad had sent half the team away. Right now, he and Nagi were Schwarz.

What was I?

I swallowed against the emotions, reached out to drain the tub. My right shoulder twinged, more strongly than it had in months. I cursed myself for an idiot; I'd hardly moved it while in the car, no wonder it hurt. Between that and the sunburn, I felt pretty stupid at the moment.

At least the pain let me forget my deeper musings.

Yohji met me with a bottle of fruit water as I left the bathroom. "How's the burn?"

Seeing as I was clad only in a towel, I gave him a sardonic glance and asked, "How do you think it is? It sucks. But not as bad as before the bath."

Yohji leaned in and kissed me quickly. "Drink up. I don't want you passing out from sunstroke, that would be kind of pathetic."

I held the bottle in my right hand and wrapped my left arm around Yohji, pulling him closer. "Yeah, I'll drink up," I murmured, seeking his mouth again. That one little kiss was not what I wanted. I wanted to lose myself in him, find myself in him, steal just one more moment before reality took me back.

Yohji smiled against my lips and untied my towel.

"No fair," I chuckled, moving back just enough to see his eyes.

"All's fair," he replied with that rakish grin, his hands dancing along my spine.

I sighed and let the sensations wash over me, more soothing than any bath. I was such a glutton for touch! Always had been, really, just never had a safe outlet for it. Well, other than Karl and Sergei, but those touches had been rushed and desperate, like my entire life up till now.

Yohji trailed his fingers lower, cupping my ass and holding me close to him. He kissed me again, deeply, and I sighed into him. One hand slipped around and tickled my growing erection, teasing along its length before gripping right below the head and tugging. I moaned into Yohji's mouth, wishing I wasn't holding onto a slippery-cold bottle of fruit water.

As though I had projected that thought, Yohji paused, relieved me of my drink, and set it on the floor before kneeling in front of me, his expression pure mischief. He ran his fingers through the chilly condensation on the bottle, then caressed my cock. I gasped, feeling myself surge to full hardness at the unexpected sensation.

Still grinning, Yohji took a mouthful of the cold fruit water, then locked his lips around my cock.

My hands clenched in his hair. I'd never had the chance to be so playful at sex before; this was fantastic! The cold liquid and his hot mouth sent shivers through me. Distantly I realized how long it had been since I'd done anything sexual, even by myself. No wonder I was already near the edge!

Yohji swallowed the water, released me long enough to take another swig. The cool air against my overheated cock felt amazing – and then he touched the bottle to my balls. I cried out, then bit my lip as the contrary touches of hot and cold rolled through me. His mouth closed around me again, one hand teased my skin with the chill damp of the bottle, while his other hand trailed droplets of water along my thigh.

My hips moved of their own volition, thrusting against the cold, the heat, the intensity building with every movement. As Yohji ran cold fingers along my balls, I groaned and fell into the rising tide. Every muscle tensed, nearly vibrating with the intensity of climax. Months of frustrated tension, of fear, of barely-held hopes – all crashed together with the fury of forever. I came so hard I felt light-headed and had to cling to Yohji's shoulders for support.

Gently, carefully, Yohji guided me to sit on the floor with him, even arranged the discarded towel for a cushion. I grinned sheepishly at him, honestly surprised at myself for going off so quickly.

As I opened my mouth to say something, Yohji put the bottle of fruit water back in my hand.

I burst out laughing.

Yohji kissed me softly. "Drink your water. You've, ah, lost some fluid."

"Pervert." I raised the bottle, thought about all the fun it had had, and grinned around it as I drank. "Do you have any more of these in the fridge? I may want to return the favor."

"I've got fun in the freezer, too."

I felt my eyebrow go up at that. "Do tell?"

But Yohji shook his head. "If you're not too tired later, I'll show you."

As he got up, I reached out to give him a squeeze. He wasn't hard. Not anymore, anyway: the front of his pants bore a telltale wet spot. I smirked up at him. He grinned down at me. "Come on," he said, offering me a hand up. "Let's get some food and hit the road. It's a clear night, should make for easy hunting."

I let him haul me up, but my mind seemed determined to stay on the floor. My head reeled; I clung to Yohji for balance, nearly toppling back over in the process.

"Whoa! You okay?" Yohji searched my face for an answer before I could speak. "You're not sun-sick, are you?"

"No," I gasped, "I'm all right. Just a little head rush." I considered my options, growling at myself for being so off-stride. It was just an orgasm, for gods' sake! A fantastic orgasm, but still, nothing to faint over. "I think I need to sit down. Bed's closer, right?"

Yohji nodded, his expression worried. He guided me to the bedroom, sat me down on the bed, squatted down in front of me. "You going to be all right? I need to wash up a little."

I nodded, wished I hadn't. My internal gyroscope bitched like hell at that. Carefully I raised the near-empty bottle of fruit water. "I'll be fine. Let me finish this, maybe have three or four more, I'm good to go."

"I'm trusting you on that." Yohji stood, kissed me on the forehead, then headed for the bathroom.

I sighed and shut my eyes. That wasn't a good thing to do either: reality spun in a slow counter-clockwise fashion, with a slight wobble that seemed in time with my pulse. Opening my eyes, I watched an explosion of sparkles drift apart and fade before the room came back into view.

Memories rose up as though pulled by an unseen moon: hints, whispers, arguments. Brad telling me to stay away from doctors, after that bout of pneumonia. Brad reminding me there were safe medics in Japan, though implying Far would be their patient. That stupid seaweed tea.

"_Schuldig, whatever you just decided, don't do it. Don't ask, just promise me."_

"_All right, I promise. Can you tell me­–"_

"_I said don't ask!"_

I swallowed hard. My spit tasted metallic, the flavor of panic.

Was something wrong? With me?

"Fucking cigarettes," I muttered, willing myself not to shudder. I didn't listen. Trembling violently, I forced myself to finish the fruit water, no longer caring how intimately the bottle and I had been acquainted only minutes ago. This was stupid. If I had something wrong, Brad wouldn't have told me not to go to a doctor, that would be cruel!

A brief flash of memory shot through my head, breaching in a wake of pain. I was just a little kid, at the family doctor's for a check-up.

He knew I was a telepath. It was just one of our nasty little secrets.

Doctors were a direct line to Esset.

"Hey, you didn't pass out on me, did you?" Yohji's voice preceded him into the room. He flashed me a smile, tossed his soiled pants into the wash basket.

I forced a calmness on myself that I didn't truly feel. "I'm good. I don't know if I'm up for what's in your freezer, though. This water thing was pretty damn intense!"

Yohji pulled on a pair of jeans and sat next to me on the bed, draping an arm across my shoulders. "No worries, I'm not addicted to gimmicks. You're plenty sexy enough without it." His breath tickled behind my ear.

I struggled to keep my emotions under control, something I'd perfected long ago only to see it shatter here in this haven. Fear could have no place in me without taking everything I'd fought for. I couldn't decipher Brad's intentions, I needed to just leave them aside and not think about them. That way lay madness, and I'd already been close enough to that hallowed land to want to steer clear of it. I imagined Karl, sitting in Yohji's place, imposing his own profound and gentle calm upon me, siphoning off my restless, groundless fear and granting me a moment of precious sanity.

Strong arms wrapped me in safety and warmth, and I rebuilt myself within them.

Normalcy reasserted itself in quiet ways. Mingled scents of skin and sex and sweat anchored me to this moment, layered on a backdrop of denim and linen. Yohji's hair smelled like peaches, the shampoo freshened by a quick rinse that left his hair in damp ringlets against his neck. You didn't have the smell of peaches in Rosenkreuz. It was one of the forgotten things, things belonging to another time and place.

To another self.

The coarse memory from my childhood slid back into the depths where it belonged, taking the last of the pain with it.

In silence we finished dressing. Afterward, I allowed Yohji to guide me through a semblance of dinner. He seemed to acknowledge my quiet for something I sorely needed, not pushing me to speak or to listen. We polished off some leftovers, then readied ourselves for another round of searching. Two handguns and an assassin's watch – would that be enough to stop Farfarello, if we found him in the middle of business?

I added that to my growing list of things not to think about.

The night sky flew above us, we flew below, racing the highway to the places that might call to the mad: churches, cemeteries, missions, abandoned buildings. I cautiously let my mind drift, tasting for a resonance of familiar lunacy; I found none. I sensed or imagined other minds searching for mine, however. That brought me back within my shields, a stronger position than it had been in a long time.

As though feeling the defenses lock down, Yohji glanced at me and asked, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah. I don't think we're alone out here, though." I hadn't been able to get a fix on the interference, and still wasn't sure I hadn't imagined it.

"Probably not," Yohji murmured. "I'd be surprised if they didn't have agents in Japan, whether they're looking for anyone or not. It's their territory, after all. Bought and paid for."

I frowned, suddenly uneasy.

Yohji snorted a sigh and growled, "Takatori sold his own people. People who trusted him. People who didn't have the power to say no." His jaw clenched against more words, forbidding them their own freedom, but I heard them all the same. ::Takatori…blood's unclean. But that's foolish. Each man makes his own destiny.:: Aloud, he stated, "I get the feeling that once they're entrenched, they're damn hard to get rid of. Like bugs."

"Kind of like that, yeah." I leaned back and watched the stars do absolutely nothing. They refused to move for the will of man, blazing defiantly against a backdrop of nothingness.

Was that why Nagi had loved them so? Because even he couldn't make them move?

Could he now?

Add another to that list… I caught myself yawning; the odd and troubled thoughts of the evening rose up in a gibbering wave, promising uneasy dreams. I wasn't ready to admit defeat and revisit any of those thoughts. Instead I reminded myself that sleep in Yohji's arms would be proof against such fears. Karl had possessed such magic; I willed Yohji to have the same.

By the time we returned to the apartment and made our way to bed, the stars had all vanished in the light of dawn.

We still hadn't found Farfarello.

A/N:

_Dein Leben dreht sich nur im Kreis,_

_so voll von weggeworfener Zeit._

_Deine Träume schiebst Du endlos vor dir her..._

Your life is just spinning round

(it's) so full of wasted time

You brush your dreams endlessly aside...

"Kein Zurück" – Wolfsheim _Casting Shadows_

Schuldig seems to do so much better when he isn't thinking, doesn't he? The moment he pauses to consider his circumstances, he finds himself surrounded by shadows and phantoms, memories and monsters. He craves happiness so desperately, and yet seems unable to accept it without payment. Another leftover attitude courtesy of Rosenkreuz, perhaps? It does seem to be a common problem…


	93. 93

**93**

_Du willst noch leben irgendwann,_

_doch wenn nicht heute, wann denn dann?_

_Denn irgendwann ist auch ein Traum zu lange her..._

Over the next twelve days, we spent more time in Yohji's car than his apartment. We told ourselves we were searching for my mad teammate, but I think we both knew that Yohji was studiously avoiding any well-meaning visitors. That, and it made my eventual departure seem a little further off: without the television to remind us what day it was, or how long I'd been there already, it became easy to pretend I'd only just arrived.

But it has been twelve days out of nineteen, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. From this place high in the hills, I looked down at a half bustling, half sleeping vista and sighed.

"You all right?"

"Just thinking." I watched Yohji light another cigarette, turned down his offer. Smoke had really not been my friend lately.

"Amsterdam?" Yohji murmured, smiling gently.

I felt myself smile in response, though it probably looked a little strained. "Something like that. Yohji, what kind of life did Kritiker leave you? I mean, if you wanted to go off and get married, have a dozen kids, could you?"

His smile faded to something close to ice as he took the cigarette from his lips and held it in front of his gaze like a holy candle. "No. I couldn't. And it's not Kritiker's fault." Yohji shook his head; for a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard and said, "It changes you, killing on command like that. I won't pass my sins to a child." He took a long drag on his smoke, then asked, "What about you? If you could, would you?"

I thought about this a moment. I had no memory of my family, beyond the occasional pain-filled image or remembered incident. I felt fairly certain that I wouldn't be able to recall their faces no matter how hard I tried, and that the trying would only bring me agony. Could I ever have been a fit father, presuming I could learn how to lay with a woman without killing her? Memory swarmed over me, and I shuddered. "No. I can't anyway, even if Esset weren't an issue. Besides, I already sort of have a kid, right? And we all know how he turned out."

Yohji smiled again, this time tinged with shared regrets. "I guess we're both the end of our lines, then."

I'd never thought of it that way, but hearing it said so plainly felt like a punch in the gut. "I guess so. We all are." I almost blurted out something about Brad's family, but stopped myself at the last moment. To cover my slip, I looked up at the stars and frowned. Was Brad's family still alive, somewhere in America? Would the Crawford line continue regardless of his fate?

Were there other precogs to follow in his footsteps? And if so, would Esset use them too?

Had Esset already taken them?

"Where did you go?" Yohji murmured, offering me a can of beer.

"Nowhere helpful," I replied.

"Do you think he's still in Japan?"

My brain didn't quite connect his question to our situation, and I gave him an odd look before comprehension set in. "Oh. Yeah, I think he's here. Are you sure your friend is all right? I mean, when Far gets his head set on something, he can't be turned. Unless he starts obsessing on something else, and that's usually worse."

Yohji nodded absently. "Ken's fine. I'm trusting him to be fine. We've come too far to let one of ours fall."

"I thought you didn't consider yourself part of the team anymore," I murmured, watching him closely. I'd had enough of secrets to last a lifetime, and if Yohji was keeping something from me…

But he scowled and shook his head. "Not the team, but we were a little like brothers. Sometimes I do miss them, Red."

I smiled. "Now it's Red? What happened to Ginger?"

Yohji grinned and said, "In this light, it's Red. In the apartment, it's Ginger. Sue me, I used to color coordinate floral arrangements."

I toasted him with my beer. "Fair enough!" After taking a deep drink, I muttered, "Though you may as well call me Stripes. I'm getting white streaks already, damn it."

"So dye it," Yohji stated simply. "Really, I think you've probably earned them. You know they're associated with wizards and the like?"

"Bite me. I'm no wizard."

"In ancient times, telepathy was magic. Tell me I'm wrong."

I blinked, stared at him, then conceded defeat. "You're right. It would have been, wouldn't it? Damn, no wonder Esset has such a stranglehold on the world! It bought its way into the royal courts under the guise of magic and just stayed. That's a little creepy, you do realize this?"

Yohji nodded, then gave me a curious look. "How long do you think those old hags were building their power base? I had the feeling that they weren't of normal age, like they ate the life energy of others or something."

"Please, I do NOT want to think about this, especially in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the fucking night!"

Yohji laughed at my outburst as I took another long drink. "Red, are you afraid of ghosts?"

"Hell yes!" I blurted. "Aren't you?"

Yohji smiled slightly and said, "Not anymore. Don't worry about it, I was just curious."

"The average asshole knew jack about those three," I murmured, fighting down the urge to look behind me as my hackles stirred. Just talking about them would always give me the willies. "They could have been vampires, for all I know."

His voice low and somber, Yohji whispered, "And now they're entombed in the deep green waters _right out there_."

I stared at Yohji, then realized he was laughing. "You shit! You got me all freaked out!"

"That was way too easy," he murmured, pulling me toward him for a kiss. "Seriously, I'm not worried about them anymore. They're dead, probably long overdue, but dead nonetheless. I would think someone in that organization would decide we'd done them a favor and leave you guys and Kritiker the hell alone."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it? All of us get medals for ridding the world of three archaic bastards and furthering some other bastard's career?" I sighed, considering the myriad possibilities we had unleashed upon the world. "What a fucking mess."

"You ready to make another pass, or do you want to call it a night?"

In answer I found myself yawning. "I think I'm done."

Yohji kissed me again and started the car. "Under other circumstances, I'd love to show you how comfortable the Seven is for intimate things, but…"

"What, first get me going on ghost shit and then try to seduce me? Where the hell did you learn your moves, Yohji?"

He chuckled softly. "Usually girls get a thrill out of imagined danger, with the exposed setting and ghost story and all. But it's not much fun when the danger might be real, is it?"

"Or when the ghosts are." I finished off my beer and leaned back in the seat, letting the wind lend me a sense of safety. I kept my senses tuned for anything out of the ordinary, found nothing as we returned to Yohji's apartment, our shared sanctuary.

I watched as Yohji checked his traps and signal wires, finally declaring his home safe to enter. It reminded me of some kind of voodoo fetish, a carefully tended ritual to keep the evil out and the safety in. Between that and our earlier conversation, by the time I entered his home I had to keep from bolting inside as a creeping paranoia settled between my shoulderblades.

I debated saying nothing, as I believed this to be a product of my overwrought nerves, but decided to tell Yohji just in case. He frowned, then handed me his cell phone. "If this isn't a false alarm, hit the redial and drop the phone. You stay here, I'll check the stairs."

The thought of Yohji going out alone chilled me to the core, though I couldn't say what, exactly, I thought might be out there waiting for him. "I don't like this."

"You don't have to. Stay put, and guard this door." With that, Yohji stepped back out, drawing a length of wire from his watch and fading into the shadows.

I tried to look telepathically without being seen, but I couldn't trust my nerves to keep my shields solid. Instead, I put my ear to the door and listened as intently as I could. I thought I picked out one set of footsteps, very soft and stealthy, and hoped to hell that was Yohji.

A few moments later, Yohji was back at the door, sidling into the apartment and sealing the door with wire. "I didn't see anything," he whispered, "but we'll be on alert for a while. You want to start some coffee?"

While Yohji double-checked the windows and fire escape, I set about making some very strong coffee. I was already tired, more tired than I should have been, and I knew it would take some serious caffeine to keep me functional. Correction: to make me functional at all. At the moment, I didn't feel particularly useful for anything.

Yohji joined me in the kitchen, paused to embrace me before finding us a couple of large mugs.

"Your phone's over there," I told him, pointing toward the microwave. I'd put it back where I'd seen him leave it, just another thing I'd picked up as habit here.

"I'm fairly sure we're okay," he stated, "but I'm not taking any chances. This place is sealed tight; if we need to get out, follow me close, okay?"

I nodded, feeling more wretched by the second. If there were trouble, I had surely brought it here.

"Will you stop blaming yourself?" Yohji murmured, setting his fingertips under my chin and raising my head back up. "I made myself a target the day I joined Kritiker; leaving is no different. Only the hunter changes. I'm not afraid to die, but I am afraid to fail, and I will not fail you."

"Yohji, don't promise this," I whispered, more afraid than before. Something about his demeanor worried me, something I couldn't quite recognize. "You hardly even know me, and we both know I can't stay!"

Yohji shook his head, looked into my eyes, his own eyes the deep jade of sacred oaths. "I _do_ know you, Shooga. More than you realize. And for God's sake, someone should be willing to defend you, unconditionally, for once in your life! That someone…is me."

As his lips brushed mine, the coffee maker boiled over, spilling hot water and coffee grounds all over the counter. I flinched as the mess hit my hand. Yohji cursed and switched the possessed machine off, then struggled to slide it over to the sink without making too much more of a disaster out of things.

From somewhere in myself I found a tide of laughter rise up, and I didn't have the will to stop it. The mundane absurdity of the situation bore his words home to me in a way no kiss could do. I had become a part of Yohji's home, of his life, enough to get swept away in his paranoia and his unruly outdated coffee maker. I had become dear to him, and he didn't resent me for it. He didn't push me away or play with my affections.

He loved me.

So did Brad.

Or did they? Laughter turned to weary tears, and I hoped Yohji didn't see them. I'd dreamed for so long of loving Brad, of giving myself to him and having him love me and keep me to himself, but he confused me so much. I felt torn around Brad, almost as if there were two of him: the one who loved me and the one who used me.

Yohji never made me doubt myself.

Which one was real?

"You didn't get burned, did you?" Yohji reached for my hand, a cold compress at the ready.

"No," I whispered, swallowing my tears. "Just a little brewed." I let him wipe the coffee residue off my hand, my other hand rising on its own to pull him closer.

His eyes met mine, saw the confusion there.

I didn't give him time to speak. I leaned in and kissed him softly, honestly, offering him what Brad had alternately scoffed at and cherished. My heart couldn't accept the changing weather anymore; Yohji had always been steadfast and stable, offering me nothing but himself, asking nothing but my company.

As we stood there, complete for the moment in each other, I recognized the turning tide within myself and accepted it. Brad had sent me here for this chance at a happiness he could not give me. I would be a fool to throw it away.

If Farfarello did indeed leave the team, then it was time for me to do the same.

A/N:

_Du willst noch leben irgendwann,_

_doch wenn nicht heute, wann denn dann?_

_Denn irgendwann ist auch ein Traum zu lange her..._

You want to live some day,

But if not today, tell me when?

After all, some day, even a dream will be too long ago

"Kein Zurück" – Wolfsheim _Casting Shadows_

A telepath's life is never easy, especially at Rosenkreuz. First one is broken to within a hair's width of sanity. Then he's given over to a master, whether a team leader or other authority figure; usually this involves a certain dominance structure in which the telepath is never in control. Over time, he loses faith in his own decisions, in his own desires, in his own heart.

Though Brad Crawford never took leader privilege with Schuldig, he still dominated him as thoroughly as was expected, and now neither of them really know how to change things. Schuldig has tried to forge a real, human relationship with the man, but something is still holding Brad back, keeping him from admitting whatever his feelings might truly be. How long can a sane man put up with such a conundrum without losing hope? I think we may have just found out.


	94. 94

**94**

_Immer vorwärts, Schritt um Schritt,_

_es geht kein Weg zurück!_

I woke to a soft roll of thunder. A glance at the clock showed the time as nearly noon, but there was no confirming light around the blinds. As I lay still, trying to calculate how long I'd been sleeping, the rain began to fall in torrents.

The blinds flickered and parted. Yohji stood in dim silhouette against the gray, a cigarette burning down between his fingers.

"What a day," I murmured, struggling out of bed. "Did you sleep at all?"

"No." Yohji turned toward me, sucked on his cigarette. "No, I was keeping watch."

I padded toward him, my jeans chafing lightly against my skin. Neither of us had changed clothes since last night, though I'd shrugged out of my shirt at some point in my sleep.

With a smile, Yohji transferred the cigarette from his lips to mine.

For a few moments we just stood there, wreathed in smoke and listening to the storm. Then I gave him his cigarette back and leaned against his chest. He felt so solid, so warm, so very right. I imagined the window looking out on a seedy boulevard in Amsterdam, and smiled.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah." I followed Yohji through a nearly dark apartment into the sanctuary of his kitchen. Without warning, the previous night's paranoia swept over me again as though the room itself were haunted. "Yohji?"

"Hn?"

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "Something's still not right."

Yohji dug some sweet rolls out of the fridge and set them on the table. "I stayed awake while you slept. Nothing happened."

"I still can't shake it."

Coffee was already made and mostly gone, a half-filled cup on the counter. Yohji turned the warmer off, filled a cup for me, then finished off the rest. "Bolster yourself a bit. We'll check around outside in a few minutes." He kissed the corner of my mouth, then headed back toward the bedroom.

I tore into the sweets with a vengeance, forcing my body to abandon its fatigue and wake the hell up for real. By the time I went for the third bun, Yohji had returned to the kitchen. He'd changed clothes, and added a long coat against the rain. "Whenever you're ready," he murmured, nabbing one of the few remaining sweet rolls.

I tipped back the last of my coffee and went to change. A nagging ripple in my mind prompted me to gather my gear and be ready to move out. I couldn't pinpoint it, but it gave me the unsettling feeling that I was being watched.

If Esset had found me, why were they waiting to strike? Maybe they didn't want to involve civilians. In that case, I owed it to Yohji to lead them as far away as possible.

When he saw me return to the living room, my pack hitched over my shoulder, he nodded grimly. "Ready?"

"Yohji, I think we're being watched," I murmured. "Maybe you should just let me go out there alone. If they're giving you the chance to turn away –"

"Like hell," Yohji replied, aiming for the door. "If anyone's out there, we'll deal with it together."

"That's stupid!" I hissed, blocking him. "I couldn't live with myself if I led them to you!"

Instead of speaking, Yohji grabbed me by the arms and kissed me hard on the mouth. "And I couldn't live with myself if I just stood back and did nothing."

I clung to him a moment, then nodded. "All right, maybe we're both being paranoid again. I'm going to risk a look around; if anything happens, knock me out and call for backup." Before he could argue or I could have second thoughts, I concentrated on that annoying buzz that had been circling around since last night. Direction resolved to almost straight up, distance…the roof. I felt my hackles lift as I tightened my focus. There was someone on the roof, but I couldn't get a solid contact. "Let's take a look outside," I whispered, blinking at Yohji.

He opened the door and peered out cautiously before venturing into the hall. I followed, keenly aware of the fact that I was carrying all my worldly possessions and gripping a pistol hilt in my coat pocket. This felt too real.

Yohji knelt by the opposite wall, reached down, and picked up something small and white. He frowned up at me. "It's your brand."

I gaped at the broken cigarette, fresh and unburnt, snapped almost completely in half. Suddenly I understood. "Farfarello."

"He's here?" Yohji growled, looking around and reaching for his wire.

Tears stung my eyes and I whispered, "It's time for me to go."

Yohji sighed and nodded. "Somehow I'm not very surprised."

Quickly, so as not to get noticed by any of Yohji's neighbors, I moved in close and kissed him one more time. This kiss tasted bitter and desperate, a kiss of goodbyes. I choked back a sob. "God, I don't want to go!"

"I know," Yohji whispered against my lips, "but you have to." I felt him smile, and he said, "I'll be here when you get back, you know. And if I'm not, look me up in Amsterdam. I hear it's a friendly place."

I couldn't hold back the laughter, or the tears. "Maybe he's just here to say goodbye, and you'll be stuck with me." My lies sounded about as convincing as Yohji's had, but I needed the hope.

"Oh, hang on a minute." Yohji turned and went back into his apartment. I started to follow, but he came right back out holding a simple black umbrella. "You, ah, might be needing this."

"Thanks. Access stairs?" I asked, hoping I wouldn't have to use the fire escape.

Yohji pointed down the hall.

"I'll let you know what I find," I told him, then stole one last kiss.

"Be safe," Yohji whispered. His eyelashes painted tears on my face.

I turned and strode decisively away, determined not to falter. A portion of my mind remained keenly aware of the loaded pistol in my pocket. If this were a trap, I would reserve one bullet for myself.

But if it truly were Farfarello, come to retrieve me back to the team… For one black moment I considered turning the gun on my friend.

Then I reached the access stairs.

By the time I came to the last landing before the rooftop exit, my breathing staggered roughly in my chest. I clung to the railing and fought down a cough. My head hurt; I couldn't concentrate. This could be extremely bad, and Yohji would never hear me.

Bad or not, I had to open that door. I hauled myself up the last steps and readied my gun. With shaking hand I gripped the doorknob, and turned it.

Within the meager shelter of the doorway, a pale figure turned from regarding the rain to fix me with a one-eyed golden stare. "It's time."

A/N:

_Immer vorwärts, Schritt um Schritt,_

_es geht kein Weg zurück!_

Always onward, step by step,

there's no turning back!

"Kein Zurück" – Wolfsheim _Casting Shadows_

The inevitability of goodbye. Choices made in the past set the future in stone – something Brad Crawford is always reluctant to mention. Which choices, which futures? Ah, to have those answers would truly make all the difference.


	95. 95

**95**

_See the way we fell astray  
Dead until our dying day  
Hold my hand and we will pray  
For all in disrepair_

The rain beat a frenetic rhythm on the metal skin of the train as we sped toward the airport. Our journey to the train station had been a wet and miserable one, in spite of the umbrella. I shivered and pulled my coat closer around my sides.

Yohji's cigarette smoke clung to the leather, a bittersweet reminder of what might have been.

Farfarello had placed himself between me and the rest of humanity on this godforsaken ride, shielding me physically at least. The other passengers' thoughts battered against my mind in a hodgepodge of languages and desires and destinations. I didn't feel like I had the energy or the inclination to keep them out, either; I lied to myself that I was keeping a lookout for Esset agents when the truth was I just didn't care.

For a few brilliant days I had escaped the darkness of my reality, only to be dragged bodily back into it the very morning I'd decided to stay in Japan.

There are no accidents. I've known Brad Crawford and Farfarello too damn long to believe in coincidence anymore.

Still, the timing hurt like hell.

Far fixed me with a kind stare, then blinked slowly like a cat. "You should try to sleep."

"Not likely, but thanks for the thought." I stretched in my seat and tried to get comfortable. At the moment my head wasn't rebelling against the load, but any minute now the hovering migraine might just make itself at home, and I didn't want to be asleep when that happened. Besides, my hair was still wet. I wiped at the ends with a handful of napkins. "Tell me something, Far. How long were you waiting for me?"

"I'm surprised you waited so long to ask, but that isn't your real question."

"No, it's not." I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "You knew where I was. You didn't make contact. Why?"

"My business is not with him," Far murmured, his expression thoughtful. "You warned him, though. For his friend." There was no threat in his statement, only words.

"I did, yes." Turning toward him, I watched his face closely as I asked, "Would you have hurt Yohji?"

Farfarello answered without hesitation. "No, your business is your own. Crawford did as much as send you there, didn't he? More than once?"

"I guess so, yeah." Brad kept using me as a messenger, sending hints and warnings to Kritiker via Yohji – the same Yohji who wanted nothing more to do with any of it, yet had at least one associate's phone number neatly memorized. Again a raw chill coursed through me at the thought of leading Esset to his door.

"No one approached his home while I kept watch," Far whispered, turning away from me. "That was two days, plus the rain. You might want to take something for your head if I can hear you so easily."

My throat felt like sandpaper as I forced some migraine pills down with a mouthful of water. Leaning back in my seat, I shut my eyes and let the motion of the car lull me to a half-doze.

The half-dreams weren't worth the effort. I startled awake as the train jolted to a halt. "Where –?"

"It's still raining," Far stated, "but we can catch a shuttle to the terminal."

I clutched the black umbrella like a talisman and nodded.

A little telepathic mojo and the migraine kicked into high gear, though it had the good grace to hold off until we were actually onboard the plane to Milan. One transfer to go, and I already felt like hell. I tried to tally my score while I waited for the pain to recede, figured I'd scrambled the good sense of at least two dozen airport employees and two sharp-eyed tourists in our quest for transportation. Probably more, but my head hurt too much to be specific about it.

"You know, it's almost funny," Farfarello observed in a ventriloquist-quality non-whisper that only I could catch, "but none of us does so well alone, do we?"

"What do you mean?" I muttered back through clenched teeth. Being used to silent communication, I lacked Far's finesse at the art of actually making sound without moving my face.

"You don't look so good, I'm weary to the bone; I wonder how they're faring."

Instead of commenting, I lay back in my seat and thought about it. My shields had taken a beating in Poland, and right now they felt more like paper than anything remotely sturdy. We all had wounds from that ambush; whether psychic, physical, or emotional, there hadn't been enough time for healing. As much as my heart missed Yohji, my sanity missed Brad, and a little nagging part of my soul prayed that Nagi was all right.

Two more airports to get through before I would know. Presuming, of course, that Brad would be there ahead of me. If we arrived first, I'd be a basket case worrying about them until they showed up.

I spent the inflight hours trying to rest and gather my strength. The airport at Milan would be teeming with tourists whose thoughts echoed in languages I easily understood, and that meant more noise against my already strained shields.

It also meant that Esset agents could hide in the open.

I winced as the plane landed hard and the flaps screeched into braking position. As the plane rolled to a halt, the migraine throbbed to full awareness, blinding me with flashes of light and nearly doubling me over with nausea.

"Easy, Pretty." Farfarello put an arm around my waist and helped me stand. "Let's do this nice and easy." He supported me for those crucial first moments until the pain and weakness passed, then ushered me to the exit. I could feel his tension vibrating through his skin; if there was trouble, he would deal with it and heaven help the fallen.

I focused through the pain, inspecting the anonymous mental voices for anything suspicious. Finding nothing, I let Far herd me toward the lounge to wait for our connecting flight. We had only half an hour, so I promised myself a good loud puke once it was all done. In exchange for that privilege, my body had to agree to be calm and relatively functional until we reached Sicily. All things considered, I thought it was a pretty fair bargain.

The takeoff nearly invalidated my deal right there.

Farfarello opened one of those airline-issue mini-Coke cans and wrapped my hand around it. "Sip this. If it doesn't help, there's a 'courtesy bag' in the seat pocket."

I almost choked. "'Courtesy bag'? Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Far shrugged, his face impassive. "Thought that would snap you out of it."

The act of smiling actually made my head hurt a little less as the muscles around my eyes relaxed. I sipped my drink, letting it settle my stomach and speed a little caffeine into my blood.

With the caffeine came a degree of alertness I didn't really want. I held frantically to my fading smile as thoughts about what we might or might not find in Sicily began to swarm through my mind. Would they be there? Would they not?

Would there be only one?

Or would there be a welcoming committee, fresh from Rosenkreuz?

As the wheels squeaked into a secure grip on the Palermo runway, I draped my jacket across my lap and used the cover to transfer my gun from backpack to waistband. Beside me, Farfarello flexed his shoulders, then popped his neck with a casual roll of his head. Gathering my will and bracing against the migraine, I touched his hand and asked, ::Ready for anything, my friend?::

Far bared his teeth in a shark-like smile. ::Damn near, though a Mafia shootout would be annoying as hell.::

::As long as they're not shooting at us, I don't give a rat's ass today.:: I slipped the jacket on and hefted the pack onto my shoulder. ::Let's do this.::

With well-rehearsed precision, Far and I vanished into the throng at the arrival gate. No one would remember our passing unless they were well-shielded and extremely observant. Or out of range. I tried not to dwell on the limits of my telepathy and instead used my waning strength to search for the rest of our team. Knowing Brad, if they were all right, they were already here.

And if not…

::Welcome to Sicily, gentlemen.::

A/N

_See the way we fell astray  
Dead until our dying day  
Hold my hand and we will pray  
For all in disrepair_

"We Could Have Flown Like Pollen" – ThouShaltNot _The White Beyond_

I'm tempted to include a disclaimer against the sneaking of firearms onto airplanes, just in case Esset Homeland Security is reading this, but I think that all reasonable folks will get the point.


	96. 96

**96**

_Do you fear what lies in store?  
Do you cry like you did before?  
Is there trust left anymore?  
Or shall we spend forever unaware?_

My hand flew to the gun in my waistband, nearly drawing it before I recognized the mental signature. ::Jesus, Brad! Give me a fucking heart attack – where the hell are you?:: I forced myself to at least seem calm even as my heart pounded behind my ribs and the migraine pounded behind my eyes.

His reply came through in bits and pieces; either I was a total wreck, or he was exhausted. Or both. ::…north lot. Just keep heading for the exit, I'll…waiting for you.::

I gestured to Far to stand down. He nodded and relaxed, though I could tell he was still on high alert. Together we made our way through the tourists and out into cool autumn sunshine.

A black sedan flashed its headlights at us. Behind the wheel sat Brad Crawford.

He was alone in the car.

I choked down the urge to run and instead met the car at a dignified pace. As I opened the door, Brad leaned toward me. "He's safe. Get in. We have a lot to talk about."

Far took my pack and slid into the back seat. I let gravity and relief drop me into the passenger seat, though the movement made my head throb.

"Did you hear me?" Brad said, rather loudly. He turned and scowled. "How long has he been like this?"

Confusion made me dizzy. From somewhere behind me, Farfarello murmured, "Since leaving Japan. He's had enough medicine to drop a horse."

"Apparently not enough. Here, Schuldig." Brad dug into a pocket and handed me a small bottle.

I tried to read the label, but all I could think about was finding Nagi.

The car lurched, swinging onto a sun-dappled street. Where the hell were we?

Numbly I shook two tablets into my hand and forced them down dry. This had to rank as the worst headache in my personal history, and it was threatening to add another round of motion sickness to the package.

Brad spoke again, his voice distorted like an audible strobe. "Just relax…about time for… migraines, Schuldig…get you to…hotel, you can…a while."

Everything drifted to gray, whether from the medicine or the pain I couldn't really tell. Logic insisted there hadn't been enough time for the drugs to kick in, but I really didn't want to consider the alternative. Telepaths had been known to die from overwork.

"You're not dying," Brad said softly as he unbuckled my seatbelt. "You're too stubborn. Come on, let's get you upstairs."

Between Brad and Far – literally – they managed to get me into the hotel and then into the elevator. As the elevator began to rise, I felt like I was floating up out of myself, away from the pain. I knew this feeling, but damned if I could put a name to it.

"Codeine," Brad stated. "I didn't think you'd need it this soon, though."

Lovely. I'd probably be a mess later, but at least for now I didn't feel as though blood was about to spurt through my eye sockets.

Brad led the way to a large suite with way too much sunlight streaming in the windows. The room seemed absurdly comfortable, lived-in; after all the time spent traveling light and leaving no traces behind, a hotel room with rumpled beds and open suitcases didn't quite parse. It all seemed too normal.

Then I saw Nagi. He was staring at me in a mix of shock and relief; the shock was winning. "Crawford? What's wrong with Schuldig?"

"It's all right, Nagi. He's going to need some recovery time from a very nasty headache, but he'll be fine in the morning…" Brad's voice faded out, and he frowned slightly before shaking it off and setting me down on the bed. "We'll talk later. Get some rest."

Everything was beginning to feel distant, wrapped in cotton. I could either fight it and try to stay functional, or give in and pass out.

Brad tugged off my shoes and draped a blanket over me. His fingertips brushed my cheek, tangled in my hair a moment. "Sleep, you stubborn bastard," he whispered, or I imagined him whispering. Either way, it made me smile as reality turned to dreams.

Voices…spoken voices…

"I think he's waking up."

Strong hands on my shoulders, holding me down. "Take it easy, Schuldig. No sudden moves. How are you feeling?"

I thought about this, recognized the hands and the voice as Brad's, and relaxed. That's right, I'd had the mother of all headaches, and codeine. How the hell _did_ I feel? "Thirsty. And kind of funky. I think I want a shower."

Brad helped me sit up, moving me slowly so as not to invite a relapse.

Far handed me a glass of water that smelled vaguely like moss.

Nagi just watched.

I drained the glass and leaned back against the wall. "Shit, Brad. How long was I out?"

"Is the headache gone?"

I considered carefully before answering that – one could never be too sure with migraines. "Yeah, I think so."

"Then you were out long enough." Brad eyed me critically. "Is that the only problem you had, the exertion headache?"

"Yeah. Hit fast, too."

Brad nodded. "Farfarello told me all about it. You really pushed yourself."

"I kind of had to, Brad." I swallowed against a nasty taste. "Was I bleeding?"

Farfarello showed me the pile of stained tissues in the trash can. "It stopped after about half an hour."

I closed my eyes with a grimace. "Great. Now you've got a broken-ass telepath to worry about."

"You're not broken, Schuldig. Just sore. We've got some time to recuperate here, I expect you to use it well."

I looked up at Brad and frowned. "Time? How much?"

"At least three more days. Decent food, decent rest, hot showers – and I've arranged for in-house security." At my quizzical look, Brad smirked. "I called in some old favors."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. The Don's been quite generous."

"Whatever." I levered myself up off the bed and reached for my pack. The motion nearly toppled me to the floor. "Whoo, codeine! Oh, this is gonna be fun."

Brad shook his head. "Farfarello, why don't you make sure he doesn't drown himself."

Far grabbed our packs and guided me toward the shower. While the water warmed up, he dug out some of the more wearable clothes and set them aside. "Haven't done this in a while," he observed casually.

The prospect of showering with Far didn't appeal to me nearly as much as showering with Brad, or with Yohji. Still, I agreed that I probably needed the help, and Far definitely needed a shower.

I managed to strip, and thanked whatever gods there be for the handrails. Far climbed in behind me, his presence calm and strong.

We bathed in turns, neither speaking. I let the water wash away the pain-sweat and travel funk, and tried not to think about the likelihood that showers would once again be few and far between. For the next three days, I could wash as often as I damn well pleased, and that should make up for some of it.

"You've lost weight."

I wiped water out of my eyes, fighting with strands of hair that stuck to my skin. "Not surprising," I muttered. "Not like we're running for our lives or anything."

Farfarello finished rinsing and turned off the water. "Just saying. How's your head?"

"Attached, I think. Doesn't hurt, just feels a little bit missing."

"You probably shouldn't try that much again. For a while, anyway." Through the steam and without his eyepatch, Far looked like he was winking.

"Hopefully I'll have that option." I ignored the clothes he'd set aside, pulling on only a pair of briefs before opening the door and letting cooler air in. The contrast of air conditioning and near-sauna steam gave me chills.

"How are you feeling now?" Brad asked, offering me another glass of water.

"Almost human." I drank half the glass down, then finally took a good look at Brad. His jaw was dark with two day's worth of stubble; his eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them bruised. I frowned at him. "How are _you_ feeling, Brad? You look rough."

"I'll be fine." Brad sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back as though trying to drop a weight from his shoulders. "We've had some times, though, I won't lie to you. When your head's back together, we'll talk. For now, just focus on getting better."

With the codeine humming through my body, I couldn't really argue with him. I gave a half-hearted nod and let the medicine drag me under.

The dreams that came were weird, disjointed things, though not precisely nightmares. Dimly I recalled the first time I'd taken codeine, and the tender care with which Yohji had bandaged my wounds. The hotel room faded in and out of my awareness, replaced every now and then by a simple apartment with an orchid in the window.

A/N:

_Do you fear what lies in store?  
Do you cry like you did before?  
Is there trust left anymore?  
Or shall we spend forever unaware?_

"We Could Have Flown Like Pollen" – ThouShaltNot _The White Beyond_

Of all human ailments, perhaps none is more wretched than the migraine. It robs one of the ability to think coherently – much less move without nausea – and turns ordinary conversation into a half-remembered hash. For a man on the run it steals valuable time, both during its reign and again after, when he tries to make sense of what he's just missed.

The Great Sage George Carlin once commented on this, by observing that, no matter how bad the condition, it can always be made worse by adding a headache.

At this point, Schuldig would probably shoot him.

[For the curious and highly observant, last chapter's ominous ::Welcome to Sicily, gentlemen:: does indeed recall an earlier Brad Crawford moment. From the notorious chapter 42: _"Gentlemen," Brad addressed us in Japanese, "welcome to Shanghai."_ Cyber-donuts for all who noticed that.]


	97. 97

**97**

_Sometimes I drive to run from all my demons_

I shifted in the driver's seat, my back sore from three hours of tension. My mind refused to quiet down and just drive, insisting on throwing the past four days back at me in handfuls of mental confetti.

"You all right?" Brad asked. "I can take a turn if you need to rest."

"No," I told him, "I'm fine. Just thinking."

As he settled back to doze in the passenger's seat, bits of conversation fluttered through my memory in a chaotic surge. Again I struggled to make sense of what Brad had told me during that brief respite in Sicily, though it was what he'd left out that bothered me the most.

"_I had another bout of blindness…"_ This hadn't come as much of a surprise, truth be told. From what we'd figured out the first time, the likelihood of it becoming a fact of Brad's life was high. Still, the implications carried their own warning: there could be no help from a doctor – just imagine what Esset would do with a blind Oracle, and that's exactly what would happen. Not for the first time, my mind flashed back to my bout of pneumonia in a masochistic sort of satisfaction at the irony.

Then, fickle as summer rain, my thoughts turned back to current things, teasing me with "what ifs" and "watch outs" without giving any wisdom in return.

_::The more Kritiker knows now, the better off we'll be when the – anyway, thank you, Schuldig.:: _It wasn't so much the knowledge that there was indeed a game being played on an unseen board with an unknown number of players that bothered me; I'd come to terms with that months ago. No, it was the way we seemed to bounce between being pawns and being players: pawns don't tend to win, unless they're very, very lucky. And now, by implication, Yohji was a pawn as well, the board expanded to include whatever Kritiker called their own. Brad carefully avoided telling me any more than this, this damn vague hint that something was indeed in the wind, as ominous and unstoppable as Godzilla.

Or wait, more like Ghidorah, the three-headed flying bastard. Yeah, the really destructive one.

Fuck, I didn't want to be thinking about this.

As if I could stop thinking about it.

My mind latched onto the image of Japanese monsters on the rampage and turned to remind me of the little uncharted monster in the back seat. I resisted the urge to turn and look at him; it would only make him glare at me. He blamed me for not being around when Brad went blind this time, but there was nothing to do about it. Brad put me exactly where he wanted me, as he did with us all. Didn't change the fact that Nagi took it personally.

"_I think Nagi's talent is changing."_ From what to what, exactly? Of course, that hadn't been in the conversation. Not in so many words. But Brad suspected that there was something going on that Nagi was both unaware of and unable to control. And that scared the piss out of me.

Nagi had turned the sky to snow.

Hell, at the start of all this he'd defied the sea itself.

Or was there more to it?

Fuck, I _really_ didn't want to be thinking about this.

Implications are heavy bastards.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Brad checking his watch and frowning.

::Everything okay?:: Even as I asked this, I felt his shields tighten, throwing me out. I flinched and tried to concentrate on driving.

"People _have_ noticed," Brad murmured, his voice soft. "Things are changing, more rapidly and yet more slowly than… I've missed something."

My jaw clenched and I silently cursed the fact that I had to keep driving. A trickle of hilarity reminded me that Brad had managed to get out of the driver's seat before this one hit; we were lucky in that regard, at least. I glanced over at Brad, to see if he was back yet.

His mouth moved, but no words came out.

"Fuck. Far, can you do something, here?" I hated handing Brad off to Farfarello, but under the circumstances we didn't have much choice.

Farfarello leaned over the seat and carefully gripped Brad's shoulder before beginning to speak in a low, calming tone. "When you're ready to come back, you're in a car with your team. We have your back, Crawford. Just take your time, and See what you need to See."

Brad twitched like a sleeper caught on the brink of unconsciousness. He checked his watch, wiped sweat from his forehead, then murmured, "I'm all right. A little unsettled, but not alarmed. Not yet, anyway. I just have to make certain I don't miss it when it comes."

I had to ask, though I didn't expect an answer. "Miss what?"

But Brad surprised me. "I'm not exactly sure. I have to intercept something. I'm guessing the vision will just keep repeating until I find it, or it's too late. I hate those, but there you have it."

"Great. I fucking hate repeaters, Brad. They creep me right the hell out."

Apparently Brad felt no need to argue with that, as he said nothing.

Silent tension filled the car as nightfall brought us into Sarajevo. Either I'd strayed too far east, or we'd been further along than I'd thought when we turned south; either way, I hadn't quite expected to end up here. As Brad directed me toward a secure area to park, I breathed a prayer for the ghosts that still remained and thanked God or whoever that I was just a telepath, and not an object reader.

"Farfarello, you have the watch," Brad stated. "We're only stopping for a few hours, but it's necessary. Schuldig, pop the trunk."

I hit the button under the dash and the trunk lid swung obediently up. Brad took two of the large fuel cans and began to pour their contents into the nearly-empty tank.

I came around to help, but the fumes made me gag, and Brad waved me away. "I've got this, Schuldig. Make sure Nagi eats something."

Farfarello had already dug into the rations and handed Nagi something that made the kid scowl darkly. Acting casual, I sat on the edge of the back seat next to Nagi and leaned over to see what he had.

Nagi took a bite of the dubious-looking sausage and winced. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and visibly tried not to choke.

Without a second thought I took the meat away from him and handed him my bag of potato chips. "Here, chibi. Try this."

Nagi looked relieved, and even smiled a little. "I wasn't sure what that was, but I think it's _Scheiße_."

My mouth dropped open a moment before the laughter caught up with it. "See? It's a useful word to know!"

"First word you taught me," Nagi murmured, ducking his head a little. "I'm sorry I haven't been talking to you, Schuldig. I just…I mean, nothing's been right."

I draped an arm across his shoulders and pulled him closer, hugging him like the kid brother he should have been. "Aw, it's okay. I know it's all crazy right now, worse than usual, but we're all together and –"

"Crawford sent you away." Nagi's eyes glowed darkly, the anger and betrayal boiling so close to the surface his hair seemed to flutter in their wake. "He keeps sending you away."

"But I keep coming back, don't I?" I nearly choked on the words, their implications just as heavy as any of the others I'd been carrying. "They needed to be told, chibi. I was the only one who could do that."

"That's not it, Schuldig," Nagi whispered, a new intensity to his voice. "He's going to break up the team, I just know he is, but I don't know why. Or when. Only that, when it happens, I think he's planning to go on alone."

The hair on the back of my neck stirred, sending a chill down my spine. "Nagi, I don't think –"

"Car's refueled, gentlemen," Brad called softly. "Schuldig, get some sleep. We're driving out before dawn."

I gave Nagi another small hug and whispered, "It's going to be all right, kiddo. Trust me?"

Nagi seemed to think about the question before nodding.

Brad settled into the passenger seat and tilted it back; I did likewise on the driver's side, huddling inside my battered leather coat against the night chill.

"Come here, Schuldig," Brad whispered, rolling toward me a little. I followed his lead and snuggled against his shoulder. As his arms wrapped around me, his mental voice sounded clear inside my head. ::It's going to get worse before it gets better. Remember that for me, all right?::

I moved back just enough to get a good look at Brad's face. He looked ragged, with weary, reddened eyes. And when the hell did he get so much gray at the temples? "We'll get through this," I told him out loud, projecting as much confidence as I could manage. "We're Schwarz, remember?"

Brad swallowed hard and nodded. "How could I ever forget?" He gave me that crooked smile as he reached up and tugged a lock of my hair. "It's good to have you back, Schuldig."

My mind flashed back to Yohji's smile, the coffee maker flooding his kitchen. I hoped my smile looked steady as I replied, "It's good to be back, Brad."

I met Brad's gaze and mind-whispered the thoughts that had haunted me every time he'd split the team. ::You confuse me, acting like you're sending me away to Kritiker, and then welcoming me back with open arms. What do you want of me, Brad?::

::What I want…:: Brad looked away from me, his profile stern. ::What I want doesn't matter, Schuldig. You will always manage to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences. That is what I will always count on.::

In a few hours, I would be driving on from nowhere to nowhere, with only this answer to go on. Would it be enough? My jaw clenched with the realization that no, this time I needed more. ::Brad – why me?::

Brad swallowed and closed his eyes, then opened them again and met my gaze straight on. His mind felt as cool and ordered as it ever did. ::Because I need you, Schu. I need you, more than you can know.::

Need. Not love.

I struggled not to let that thought past my shields, but he saw it all the same. Strong fingers tilted my head back as he bent toward me, his mouth hot against mine. ::I'm sorry, Schuldig. If it's not enough, you're free to go to him.::

In answer, I kissed him back, clinging to him in sheer desperation; in my chest, my heart felt like it was about to shatter. ::I don't know what you're running from, and I don't think I want to know, do I? Just promise me this, promise me that when it's all done, it will have been worth it. Because this hurts like fucking hell, Brad, and I don't know how long I can hold on.::

::Don't say that!:: Brad's mental voice held a hint of panic as he crushed me against him. ::You _can_ hold on, you have to! I can't do this alone!::

Time slowed to the count of two hearts beating. Distantly I felt myself fall back into my own body, the rough tendrils of Brad's Sight tossing me aside like a broken moth.

A/N:

_Sometimes I drive to run from all my demons_

"Drive" – Assemblage 23 _Defiance_

As mentioned last chapter, sometimes the aftermath of the migraine is just as frustrating as the pain itself. It's always harder to make sense of information that doesn't please us, and Brad had damn little comfort to offer his second.

The problem with trying to outrun demons is that the damn things fly so fast.


	98. 98

**98**

_Can you hear me now?_

_Don't leave me!_

I'm not dead!

"Schuldig…"  
  
"Schuldig? Can you hear me?"

I heard myself groan, the knots of nightmare logic holding me under.

"I think he's coming around."

"Schuldig, can you hear me?"

I raised a hand and waved it vaguely at the noise.

"Don't make me come in there after you."

The absurdity of the threat did more to rouse me than the repeated calling of my name. I forced my eyes open and glared at Farfarello. "That'd be a neat trick," I rasped, catching hold of his hand and using it as leverage to haul myself up.

"Are you all right?" Brad watched me closely, not allowing me to lie.

"I don't really know," I told him. "One hell of a rough ride, that's for damn sure."

"Do you remember any of it?"

I frowned, searching my thoughts for any memory of the dream, then shook my head. "Nothing. It's gone." A brief flicker of black wings came back to me then. "Wait. Something about a swan, a black one," I amended. "Probably not helpful, huh?"

Clearly relieved, Brad shook his head and said, "Don't worry about it. Here." He handed me some headache pills and a bottle of water. "Get functional. I'll be driving next, so take your time."

It took me until dawn to get fully alert; fatigue and the tatters of Brad's vision turned my mind gray though I couldn't recall anything past the swan. A reckless amount of caffeine and sugar finally set everything to right except that nagging feeling that I'd missed something terribly important.

I knew better than to ask about it.

Over the next few days, Brad seemed to come out of a fog. He grew sharp and alert again, moving forward with purpose the way he used to do back when the world was ours for the taking. I couldn't suppress a growing excitement. Seeing Brad crisp and capable behind the wheel gave me hope that something good lay ahead of us for once.

Of course, the cynical side of me observed that he could just as easily be taking us right to Esset and he'd be just as cool; I reminded that cynical side that so far it had been wrong about Brad every damn time.

Brad glanced over at me and murmured, "Go ahead and ask it, Schuldig. I know it's bothering you."

"Okay, so where are we going?"

In the back seat, Farfarello leaned forward slightly to hear his answer.

"Turkey."

I watched Brad's expression as I asked, "Do I want to know why?"

"That repeater left a map," Brad replied, "though it didn't tell me what we're looking for, or precisely where to find it, only that we have to go to Turkey. It should begin to make sense once we get there."

"Any chance it's mice?" Far asked, voicing the very thing I was worried about.

"Or the cat?" Nagi added in a whisper.

Brad shook his head emphatically. "No. Though it does seem deliberate, it doesn't have the same signature – I'd recognize it now. This is different, and it has my curiosity. If it _is_ Esset, it's not the part of it that's hunting us."

"Factions?" I murmured. "Do you really think that other groups are breaking away? I mean, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been able to leave. How could others manage the same?"

Brad smiled grimly. "If it weren't for me, they wouldn't have been able to leave, either. It's happening, Schuldig. I don't know how fast or how far, but there is dissension within the machine. As long as their attention is focused on us, Esset will find pieces of itself sloughing off like a shed skin."

"Good." Nagi stated the word like an execution order. "If it loses enough pieces, maybe it will die."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Brad said. "It will take time, for certain, but if we can just maintain…" Brad paused; he gnashed his teeth in apparent distaste before concluding, "Attrition will take care of the rest."

"So, do you expect to find another rogue team here, or what?" I asked, back on the subject at hand. "We're not really set up to take on refugees, you know."

"I know that. Frankly, I don't know what to expect, only that there's no sense of conflict about it."

"Not much in keeping with the history of the place," Far observed with his own unique logic. "Everyone in the world once saw Turkey as either a land of dreams to be captured or a den of sin to be conquered. I wonder which awaits us?"

"Depends. Are we dreamers or sinners?" I asked, turning toward him.

Far smiled at me and shook his head. "Wrong question. Through capturing dreams or conquering sin – which way does freedom lie?"

My answer hit me with the force of a Zen koan. "Both. Freedom is a dream, held captive by sin."

"Looking at it that way," Far murmured, "with Esset being sin, it will want to recapture its precious dream. Freedom, for us…is an illusion."

"Not while I'm still breathing," I growled.

"Gentlemen, if you please." Brad glanced at me, then at Far through the rear-view mirror. "We are committed to this course of action. Let's not debate whether ours is a fool's errand; too many good men have died already."

I swallowed and looked away. Brad had never spoken of the motives behind his treason beyond a desire to live in a world free of Esset's chokehold. Now I couldn't help but wonder if Yohji was right: this wasn't about being a hero, it was about revenge.

Either way, I knew we were on the right side.

I just wished I knew who carried the banner.

"Troy, laid low by the fire of outrage," Farfarello whispered; his voice raised goosebumps on the back of my neck. "Yet the atrocities wrought upon it mark the victors as no better men than the fallen. One must tread carefully in these places; the ghosts do not rest easy."

Brad scowled but said nothing.

"Ten years." Far leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the hard cushion. "Ten years of war, for the love of one woman. By the end of it, nothing was the same for any of them. How long is ten years, really? What does it feel like, while one is living it? Or does it flash past like breathing?"

Ten years…damn. Ten years ago, I was…someone else. I blinked hard, fending off either tears or a return of that headache – I couldn't say which had more priority.

A ghost of a voice beside me whispered, "Try twelve."

I shot a look at Brad. His jaw clenched as though he were chewing on steel.

The silence in the car sank to a new level as Brad drove like a man possessed. The further we advanced into Turkey, the more tension filled that silence until all I wanted was a goddamn cigarette.

Taxis and tourist buses shepherded us into Ankara, funneling us into a modern ancient world. Some of the minds around us thought in languages familiar and loud, some in a reassuringly foreign murmur; I tightened my shields against the pressure and pocketed the bottle of migraine pills, just in case.

"Weapons, gentlemen. Hide them well," Brad instructed. He parked the car at the next lot, then led us on foot into the human herd. He looked around as though getting his bearings, turned right, and set off down the boulevard, his stride slow but decisive. The three of us followed, uncertainty shared in a brief exchange of glances.

At the intersection in front of a large museum Brad paused, frowning. He cast about as though looking for something. "Déjà vu. Not good," he murmured. "Did I miss –?"

Next to the building, a pay phone began to ring.

**98**

_Can you hear me now?  
_  
Verizon wireless tag line

Yes, I know the quote could be from any number of sources, but this is the one that best fits the mood of the chapter.

Ten years. Ten years ago, writing was an unlikely dream, and Michigan lay on the horizon like heaven.

Ten years ago, GuiltyRed did not even exist.

It flashed past like breathing.

And, apologies for the cliff-hanger – I promise you won't have long to wait.


	99. 99

**99**

_Paris' arrow landed true_

"You are fucking _shitting_ me!" I growled, hand falling to my gun as I glared at Brad. "You're not answering that, are you?"

::Schuldig, with me,:: Brad ordered crisply as he strode toward the phone.

::Be ready,:: I told Far and Nagi, then followed our leader in mind. I settled my awareness next to his, trusting the other two to watch our backs.

Brad paused, hand just above the receiver. ::One more ring…::

It rang again.

Brad picked up. "Hallo?"

There was a brief pause, then an electronically distorted voice said, _"I was hoping to find you well."_

Mild surprise rippled through the psi-link and I felt myself frown. Brad kept his voice even as he replied, "To what purpose?"

"_There is a bag in the alley across from your position. You can pay a local to open it for you if you distrust it, but I assure you it is not a trap. I have been looking for you for some time now, to offer you an alliance."_

Something about that voice bothered Brad, and me. Brad was trying to analyze it through the distortion, to pull a normal tone from it, to no avail. "Why do you think I need an alliance?"

"_Because I pay attention to the news, Crawford-san."_ With that, the line went dead.

::Schuldig.::

::Yes?:: I could feel him debating his choices, selecting the next move with care.

Brad studied the phone as if he were a tourist trying to puzzle out the paying options. ::Dispatch Farfarello to find that bag and check it out. Send Nagi to me to have a look at this phone.::

I kept the link with Brad open as I reached out to the other two. ::Nagi, Brad needs you to check the phone. Make sure it wasn't rigged at this end, maybe reverse the number if you can manage it.::

Nagi sighed. ::Without a computer there's not much I can do…:: He shook his head and made his way toward the pay phone.

With him out of the way, I dealt with the harder assignment. If this was some kind of trap, I might be sending my best friend on a suicide run. Careful to keep that thought from coloring my mind, I narrowed my focus so that Nagi wouldn't pick it up. ::Far, there's some kind of bag in that alley. Be careful, but check it out. Brad thinks this might be on the level and if it is, it's important.::

Farfarello nodded and turned to lose himself in the pedestrian traffic. He gave no indication whether he trusted this or not; silent as a ghost, he headed across to the alley.

Suddenly alone except for the team link, I tried to watch the three of them at the same time without sharing my concern with any of them. Not easy, especially with a strain headache tapping at my eyeballs from the wrong side.

Moments ticked by, during which time no Esset agents appeared to drag us away and nothing blew up. This didn't ease my worry very much.

Distantly I picked up on Brad and Nagi's conversation. ::…came from a relay of some kind, I can't track it back. But this phone is normal; the call came in, like any other, except for the fact that it wiped its footprints as it went.::

Who other than Esset would have done that, could have done that? "Crawford-san" – who the hell…?

::It's a duffel bag,:: Farfarello stated. ::Nothing hostile, unless there's a hidden tracker.:: His mental voice sounded almost amused.

::What's in it?:: I asked at about the same time Brad picked up on us through the team link.

::Supplies.::

::Gentlemen,:: Brad stated coolly, ::back to the car. I don't like being in the open right now.::

As casually as we could manage it, we began backtracking the way we'd come, with Farfarello now carrying a good-sized olive-drab duffel across his back. Brad reasserted his shields with a last admonition for me to take care of the headache before it took care of me; I could tell by his stride that he was increasingly alert rather than relieved in the slightest by these events. I only hoped this meant his repeating vision would leave him alone now.

On reaching the car, Brad instructed Farfarello to open the trunk and set the bag inside, out of easy line-of-sight of any passersby. Only then did Brad say, "All right, show me what you found. Nagi, be sharp."

Nagi was already shaky from his check of that phone, but he nodded and concentrated on the bag. "There are electronics, Crawford. But I don't feel a signal. I don't think it's bugged."

Far unzipped the bag and dug around inside. He picked up something and tossed it to me – a pack of cigarettes. "It's one of your old brands," he said mildly. "There's even some matches – waterproof. There's clothes here, in different sizes. Don't know if they'll fit, but I have a weird feeling they might, Crawford. Socks, underwear… There's bandages, too, and suture thread and needles. This is a field medical kit," he murmured, holding up a small bundle that seemed held together by zippers and snaps. "Had a look earlier, there's scissors and clamps and the sutures are in there. Dental floss, toothbrushes, basic first aid stuff."

"It's like the camping trip from hell," I muttered, thinking back to some of our less civilized stop-overs.

"It's things a team on the run might need," Brad mused aloud.

"They know it's us," Nagi whispered. "Your cigarettes, Schuldig."

My hackles stood on end. "He did say he'd been looking for us, for an alliance."

"One of his more brilliant ideas," Brad murmured, taking a pair of jeans out of the bag, "and that's saying something…"

Farfarello looked narrowly at our leader. "To find, but not to use?"

"What the hell are you two talking about?" I asked, now thoroughly unnerved.

Instead of answering, Brad reached into the right front pocket of the jeans and took out something that looked like a candybar-style cell phone and several folded pieces of paper. He blinked, handed the phone to Nagi, then unfolded the paper – which turned out to be half a dozen Turkish banknotes and a scrap of unlined stationery bearing crisp, neat katakana. Brad's eyes had that look they got whenever he watched one of his visions play out in real time. "Canakkale." Looking up, he met my worried gaze with a look of mild wonder. "Directions and a date, two days from now."

"We can't go there," I hissed. "Brad, this can't be right."

An odd smile curved his lips, and he pushed his glasses up with a confident hand. "Think, Schuldig. How many Esset agents spoke Japanese well enough to bother with formalities?"

"That doesn't mean anything!" I growled. "Remember Poland! They learn, Brad. They learn! And if we don't, we're dead."

"Calm down, Schuldig, and listen to me." He looked toward Far and Nagi, bringing them into the discussion. "I know the voice now, and I understand the message."

"Which message, 'I pay attention to the news' or that bit about an alliance?" I countered, wanting answers before I trusted the team to whatever Brad had in mind.

"The message in my vision."

99

_Paris' arrow landed true_

"Citadel" – The Crüxshadows _Ethernaut_

Remember this song reference from chapter 66, the one with Brad's overpowering vision? Canakkale is the nearest major city to the ancient site of Troy; something important is on the horizon with the storms. The ride is far from over…

Points for whoever deciphers why, precisely, I picked this particular lyric for this chapter.

Oh, and, bonus points for making sense of the literary reference in this chapter, too.

It's sort of like wandering through one of Brad's more annoying visions: hints and shadows of meaning on a key with no map.


	100. 100

**100**

_This Troy, she will not fall_

In the back seat, Nagi shifted carefully, trying not to disturb the contents of the medical kit on his lap as he traded the hemostat for the wide-end tweezers. With steady hands he wielded the tweezers like a miniature screwdriver, removing the tiny screws from the phone casing to have a look inside. I could feel his psi-awareness unspool to delicately survey the item from within its circuitry. "Crawford, this isn't a phone," Nagi murmured. "It's some kind of receiver with an alarm function."

"Have you ruled out a tracking signal?" Brad asked as he swung the car into the slow stream of traffic heading out of Ankara.

"Absolutely," Nagi said with conviction. "There isn't any kind of transmitter at all." He studied the guts of the device, occasionally trading out one impromtu tool for another.

"Funny how this medical kit could work for gadgets as well as people," Farfarello observed.

"Yeah," I murmured, "funny. Look, I still don't trust this."

Brad glanced over and asked, "Do you trust me?"

I sighed and gave him a defeated wave. "Yeah, you I trust."

A strong hand landed on my thigh and squeezed gently. "This isn't Poland, Schuldig. I'm awake now. Possibly more so than I've been in a long time. The pieces are moving…finally."

I gave up trying to fathom his optimism and turned my thoughts to Nagi. The kid could reverse-engineer damn near anything electronic, and someone had just sent him a toy and all the tools he'd need to tear it apart.

Someone who knew what the kid was capable of?

I watched the road as we made our unhurried way westward. Brad had decided to circle around Canakkale and approach it from the north, giving us a better chance at a straight shot back into the mainland should anything go wrong. I finished off another bottle of water and leaned back for a nap. The team would need me rested and headache-free, and damned if I was going to fuck that up.

Of course, dozing while my mind was determined to play out every possible contingency wasn't going to be easy. I imagined camouflaged helicopters and Omega-level operatives, then "peace-keeping" troops with tanks, followed by a James Bond-like figure with codewords and a cheesy accent. Grumbling to myself, I fidgeted and tried to get more comfortable. If I was going to half-dream some twisted plot, I may as well enjoy the show.

Farfarello's quiet voice broke through my mental haze. "Do you think he picked the site at random, Crawford?"

"You mean, did he choose it for its historical relevance, as some sort of message? Unlikely," Brad replied thoughtfully, "though not impossible."

"And if he did?" I muttered.

"Battlefields are never free from pain," Farfarello whispered, "no matter how much time has passed."

Brad said nothing.

The hours seemed to crawl by as we approached our destination. I kept a passive watchfulness, scanning the area for any sign of psi-operatives or other undesirables. Finding none did very little for my nerves.

Brad found us a good spot to wait and watch from; we'd likely be living in the car until the situation resolved itself in another day and a half.

"I wish I knew what the fuck we're looking for," I growled, staring at the pack of cigarettes from our mysterious benefactor. I knew better than to light up, for several reasons. Until we found out what the hell was going on, I didn't dare trust the damn things. Besides, they'd only make me cough.

I told myself I just didn't want to listen to Nagi bitch.

I concentrated on keeping our vehicle beneath people's notice, deflecting the locals and tourists easily enough without tiring myself. It always amazed me how much easier it was to suggest to the mind that it ignore what was right in front of it, rather than believe a wholly fabricated reality. Far had told me it was because it's man's nature to be skeptical and lazy, that people will overlook the obvious more readily than they will ever accept something outside their own beliefs. This, he'd said, was the cause of much suffering, for angels and devils overlook nothing, no matter how outlandish.

As one of the devils, I had to agree with him.

"I wish we could take a look around," Far murmured, leaning slightly out his window. "What do you say, Crawford? Stay in the car and wait, or stretch our legs in turns? You could make sure a driver's at the wheel at all times, in case we need to bug out in a hurry. Besides, I have to piss."

Brad frowned slightly, probably looking for a hint of warning from the coming hours. He considered for several moments before nodding. "All right. Schuldig, why don't you go with him?"

"Are you sure? I'm keeping us under wraps pretty well," I told him, not happy with the idea of dropping my invisibility project.

"I…don't think there's any need, to be honest," Brad stated. "They're not here. They're not even looking here. Not now."

"How can you be sure?" I asked, needing more than just his say-so.

"I've Seen this, Schuldig." Brad removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before setting the glasses back in place with a confident hand. "You know what, let's all take a walk. We could use a decent meal. Farfarello, bring the duffel bag. And Nagi, bring that gadget."

We disembarked and headed toward a nearby café, with Far on the lookout for a public bathroom and Nagi almost clinging to my shadow. The whole situation had us on edge, but we couldn't argue with Brad – not yet, anyway. If things went wrong…

If things went wrong, I was ready to put a bullet in Brad's head and lead the rest of the team the hell out of there.

**A/N:**

_This Troy, she will not fall  
_"Citadel" – The Crüxshadows _Ethernaut_

Throughout this story, Farfarello has often served as a sort of Greek chorus, casting his canny observations from the outside. Here, he's all too intrigued by the prospect of exploring Troy – both the historical city and the hidden impetus for Brad Crawford's suicidal rebellion against Esset.

I wonder how much of it he'll manage to piece together, and whether he'll ever share his insights with Schuldig. Even I don't know the answer to that.


End file.
